


Fate/Holy Cry [English]

by yanechray



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/kaleid liner PRISMA ILLYA, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel), Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Fate/strange fake
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14002170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanechray/pseuds/yanechray
Summary: 1888, 20 years after the second Holy Grail War, the Grail suddenly appears in London. No one knows what the reasons are, no one knows what the consequences will be. One thing is certain, the third great war has started and the 3 big families are already ready for battle. Clarke, a police inspector finds himself involved without his consent in this bloody ritual.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fate/HolyCry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13463331) by [yanechray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanechray/pseuds/yanechray). 



**PROLOGUE**

The mansion was a little on the outskirts of the capital, not quite in town, nor quite in the suburbs. Plain from a certain angle, but nonetheless refined, it discreetly reflected the noble character of its occupants, and very soon its hosts.

Hideaki Tohsaka could not see it, however, from the carriage that led him to his destination. With one hand, he was playing with a page corner from the book set on his lap. His forehead glued to the window, he watched the floor scroll with an empty eye. The trip from Japan had been long and exhausting.

The jerk of the carriage stopped, waking him from his sleepiness.

The young man sighed, realizing that he had just spoiled one of Tohsaka's most cherished legacies by turning down the corner of the pages. The coachman opened the door, allowing him for the first time to admire the Edelfelt Manor, surrounded by a gigantic translucent dome, shining with a faint blue glow. A cane in his hand, a bag slung over his shoulder, he put away his book by climbing the steps leading to the entrance to the house. He felt suddenly slightly stupid in front of the gigantic doors facing him. He raised a hesitant hand, preparing to ring the bell of the reception, when the doors opened abruptly. The manor staff seemed to come out of nowhere. Two young women dressed in their service uniform greeted their guest, while a third invited him to enter and dispose of his belongings. A servant came to collect the luggage from the coachman to leave in a completely different direction.

Tohsaka did not have time to react to this surprising activity that a voice calls to him:

\- I welcome you Hideaki, your trip must have been terribly trying.

Going down the central staircase, Mary Edelfelt smiled with delight. Although he had not seen her in years, Mary had kept her long, curly blond hair and wore a laced blue dress as usual.

Hideaki seemed terribly relieved to see her, as if her mere presence proved that he had arrived at his destination.

\- Good evening Mary, what a pleasure to see you so radiant, the house Edelfelt can only be proud of the mistress you make. I thank you for the hospitality you share with me.

With a half-smile, Tohsaka accompanied his words with a clumsy bow, trying to keep a good face in front of his host despite his fatigue.

\- No need to splurge in long and interminable courtesies. We are here to support you in your business and the Edelfelts will give you all the necessary support in the name of the alliance that unites our two families. But something tells me that all of that will wait until tomorrow. Maybe you'd like to dine, unless you just want to have tea or an infusion in the living room. My husband will only return to -

\- Thank you Mary, but I have to start the preparations now. The rest can wait, I assure you.

Mary huffed:

\- Wait? But you will never have time for dinner! That you also plan to report to tomorrow?

Tohsaka did not want to offend his host and realized that his attitude was somewhat rude.

\- Far be it from me to upset you, but -

\- No, no!

Mary turned to one of her domestics.

\- Anna, you will show Mr. Tohsaka his apartments, and you Hideaki, dinner is at 8:30, and you have every interest to be there!

\- 8:30 pm, but - he tried to say, pulling his watch from his pocket.

Mary slammed the door of what appeared to be the living room without him being able to finish his sentence. He sighed in exasperation at the turn of the conversation. He opened the fob watch he had in his hand and raised an eyebrow of perplexity.

He saw the maid Anna waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

\- If Sir wishes to follow me, his apartments are on the second floor.

Without waiting for an answer she began to climb. He followed her, watch in hand, and questioned her:

\- Simple question Anna, I think I have not changed the time of my watch. You know, I have not taken the time to set it since I crossed the Italian border. How many hours are there between Italy and England? One? Or maybe two? In advance or late?

\- It is 6:40 pm, Sir.

The servant answered him without even turning around. But what had it taken for him to rant about time lag instead of simply asking it? He set his watch correctly and closed it after realizing that Anna was waiting for him in the middle of the last corridor on the left wing of the manor.

Anna opened the cherry door on her left.

\- Sir, your apartments have the necessary bath effects contiguous to the room which is located behind the door on the right. Your luggage has been placed on your desk in the adjoining room to your left. Madam made it clear that it had to be spacious and airy. The window gives you a view of the courtyard in front of the manor house. The bell located to the right of your bed allows to call the staff when needed. We are at your entire disposal.

Punctuating her sentence with a curtsy, Anna finally left the free entrance to Tohsaka. He stepped forward, casually posing on the couch of the parlor his coat and other bulky effects.

Realizing that Anna was still standing on the doorstep, Tohsaka turned to look at her, exhausted and questioning.

\- Does Sir still need my services?

\- That will be all, thank you.

Tohsaka watched as the door closed to open just afterwards, letting only the sound of the following voice pass:

\- And if Sir does not trust the time of his own watch, he can trust the clock attached to the fireplace, I can assure you that it has not suffered any jet lag since late Sir Geralt Edelfelt.

The door slammed shut, and only the muffled noise of a little laugh and hurried steps came to close this strange interview. Even a simple maid made fun of him. He was eager to regain strength. He was especially impatient to finally have his own Servant. And to hell Mary's injunctions, he would begin the preparations immediately.

Tohsaka smiled. In a few hours he will be Saber's Master.

x

* * *

x

 

Whitechapel was an already low creep neighborhood, even for the poorest. As soon as the sun declined, the streets quickly became gloomy and the reputation of the neighborhood was not redone. The few kids who were still walking around were either smart enough to survive, or they were the next topic of the Times newspaper.

At the entrance of the nearest church, yet sentenced, a unit of Scotland Yard was urgently dispatched, following the recent investigations of the exorcists sent by the Church in the area. The case was then delegated to Inspector Clarke despite the late hour.

The latter had remained outside the church, questioning the employees of the adjoining cemetery. Then while taking the road to join the police officers inside, two of them went out to report the inventory.

\- We’ve just finished the search of the premises, Inspector Clarke, nothing to report, began Agent Walter. The church is as dilapidated and empty as ever.

\- It turns out that at this time of the year, it is even colder inside than outside, added Agent Simpson.

\- Even a needy would not dare to force entry to shelter in a building as welcoming as a cold cellar, added the first agent under his too wide helmet.

\- Proof of this is that most still prefer the cold pavers at a place like this…

A glare look from their superior silenced them:

\- Are you kidding me?

If the Inspector Clarke was known for the rigor of his investigations and his expertise, he was also known for his precise schedules. Suffice to say that the unexpected extra hours put him in a dog mood, and often at the expense of his staff.

The two agents looked at each other, seeking non-existent support in the other’s eyes. In the same gesture, they dared a questioning glance at their superior, making Clarke sigh with exasperation.

\- All right, let’s start all over again. The Scotland Yard police station received today three complaints, respectively for vandalism, Satanism and finally, abnormal activity in a condemned place. The first one was issued this morning and the investigation led to the dooryard in front of the prostitutes’ hotel, which was filled with signs of magical nature. It turned out that three streets away, similar signs were found, hence the second complaint. A brigade of exorcists has made its investigation on the scene… I’m wasting my time for you, Simpson, make me at least a favor and pretend to listen!

\- I’m sorry, sir!

With these words, Agent Simpson rushed his watch, while his colleague held back his laughter.

\- I too dream that this day ends, Agent Simpson… he continued while rubbing the bridge of his nose. As if the child abduction case did not take my mind enough lately… Anyway, one of the employees of the cemetery saw strange unnatural lights filter through stained glass windows of the church, while he was digging a grave nearby. The exorcists forced the entrance of the church and listed what would appear to be unconventional summoning circles. And during the investigation, footsteps were perceived, but you know the legendary courage of our dear colleagues from the Catholic Church…

\- Strip of cowards, whispered Walter.

\- Exactly, hence our presence here. As usual, it is always up to us to have the privilege of overcoming the incompetence of our good friends.

Pulling a piece of his cloak, the inspector pulled a notebook out of an inside pocket from which some folded documents exceeded. He seized the latter and showed its content to the police officers.

\- Here is the exorcists’ report.

The two agents seized the sheets and divided them. Both frowned as they read the contents.

\- I don’t see what that can bring us, grimaced one of them.

\- Although containing all hypothetical gibberish about the usefulness of the magic signs found, these documents contain faithful reproductions of the marks we seek, as well as various descriptive indications. Dimensions, places, numbers… And keep in mind that the only conclusion that must be remembered is that we are dealing with acts of necromancy.

Agents Walter and Simpson swallowed. The first one said:

\- We understand very well the importance of the affair, sir, however we can assure you that there was no trace of these marks during our inspection.

\- But the others may have found something, added the Agent Simpson while pointing at the entrance of the church.

\- Send them the information, then.

Clarke passed between his two men and began to enter the church. He opened a door that squeaked painfully. In the huge stone building as high as empty, the resonance made the place terribly gloomy.

The church was dead. Quite normal since it had been abandoned and sentenced for years. The nave was emptied of its seats. Only two wooden benches remained in front of the steps leading to the sacred altar. The aisles were empty and the windows so dusty that the light barely filtered through them. The set gave a grayish decoration like the stones that made up the building, lit only by a few candles.

Besides, a mountain of candles sat next to the stoup of the entrance on the right, in a large box. It was very dark, indeed, but from there to tool up with a whole box of candles…

\- Tell me, was it really necessary for the exorcists, all these candles? He asked to the first agent around.

\- No sir, I was the first to arrive on the scene, and taking it over from the exorcists, I also found it strange that they needed so much. Apparently this stock did not belong to them and was already on the scene upon their arrival. Anyway, with this penumbra, these candles are still welcome.

Clarke grabbed one of them. They were not dusty. Someone had arranged them there not so long ago. And they seemed to smell something… indescribable. Not disgusting, but uncomfortable enough to tickle his nostrils. He handed the wick of the candle to that of one of his colleagues. Then began to make a tour of the place himself.

At first glance, it was a Gothic church with a conventional architecture: cross-shaped, with private boxes located behind the choir, and a floor for the organ. He spotted the staircase near the entrance and climbed it. Getting high enough could help him think about something he didn’t see from below.

Indeed, from the floor, he had a perfect view of the central part of the church.

In height, even the alcoves that adorned the pillars were empty of their usual decorations: statuettes of saints, popes or others.

The smell incrusted itself in his nostrils again, and this time, it did not come from the candle. It was a certainty that himself could not explain, and whatever its origin was, he knew that it was relatively close.

Turning around, he was facing the rosette bluish by the few rays of the night, which had certainly been very beautiful by day, at one time. Besides, the pipes of the organ protruded from a large sheet. He shot it with a sharp gesture and choked on the aerial particles that emerged from it.

\- Bloody dust…

Clarke’s eyes widened as he saw sheets of paper fly off at the same time as the dust. He grabbed some of them, yelling at the officers below to pick up the ones flying over the guardrail. Then, taking a look at his catch, he realized that he was holding the sketches used to produce the famous necromantic drawings. He wrinkled his nose and brought one of the sheets closer to his face.

The air was now embalmed with the same effluvium that permeated the candles, and oozed from the heap of paper he had just discovered.

He resumed his own notes concerning the report of the exorcists. No mistake. According to the report, the circle was nearly four meters in diameter. By taking the height, and therefore the recoil, the necromancer could make his calculations and check the status of his work.

To describe them vulgarly, the drawings represented a kind of pentacle, barded with one or two circles around, with some other details surely significant for a magus. But for a bare inspector, it didn’t matter. The individual they were following was trying to make an invocation, and no matter how, many conditions had to be met, and the choice of the place seemed to be very important.

The necromancer had already done experimentations in three very different places, which had only one thing in common: their geographical location, namely, Whitechapel.

The places were not chosen for their frequentation, since drawing circles of summoning in the street and by day, was not particularly discreet. Doing so in such a bad neighborhood could be smart if the crime rate had not made it as guarded as a penitentiary. And if, finally, no rational reasoning could solve this mystery, it was because we had to reason as a mage.

And that was the whole problem.

Something related to the invocation led the necromancer to choose these places. Apparently without success.

Clarke leaned on the rail: three things became clear to him.

First, the individual was looking for the perfect place progressively. The traces found during the day were close to each other and the man’s course seemed quite linear if we looked at a map. He knew what he was doing and where, but he lacked precision.

So, after three failures, he would keep trying in the neighborhood, because something related to magic in the surroundings would make the place necessary for the invocation…

Which meant, in the end, that he isn’t far away.

With a map of the neighborhood, Clarke could very easily define the future area of action of the necromancer. Although there was still an unknown to the equation…

How could have disappeared such a circle?

The report stated that it had been drawn in chalk in the center of the nave and was four meters in diameter. In addition, an exorcist remained on the scene until the arrival of Scotland Yard’s first agent.

Even made with chalk, such a drawing could never have volatilized as well… and when would that even happen? The place had always been under surveillance.

Unless…

With a big grin, the inspector quickly took a map out of his pocket and spotted the surroundings. He took advantage of the height to count his officers.

\- Fuck…

He rushed down the stairs and asked where the officer who informed him about the candles was. The men looked at each other to finally notice his absence.

\- What’s his name? Hissed Clarke.

Facing the silence, the inspector kept up:

\- How many agents were dispatched on this site in addition to Simpson and Walter who arrived with me?

\- Eight, Inspector.

\- Stop all your activities! The individual we are looking for is maximum 200 meters from where we are, in South-South-East direction. You, take a map and draw a compass with his areas of activity. You will split into 5 groups to delimit the area.

He took a whistle out of his pocket and went on:

\- I’ll whistle three times when the fugitive is spotted. Understood?

\- Yes, Inspector, answered the ten men in unison.

\- So, go ahead!

No longer worried about the officers of Scotland Yard, Clarke went to the back of the church and approached one of the doors leading to the priests’ lodges. If the first one was locked and barred by studded planks, the second had an open latch. He tried to put some force and finally managed to open it after many shoulder strokes.

The proofs were there.

The necromancer had fled by the priests’ boxes when he heard the exorcists’ arrival.

He pretended to be an agent to the only one of them left behind and had been able to erase the evidences properly.

Here, the dust was much thicker than in the main part of the church. The footprints were very distinct and not mixed with those of the exorcists or officers. The man had fled through the window, which is hidden from the outside by the wall behind.

He had then obtained by unknown means a Scotland Yard uniform. Maybe he was an agent of Scotland Yard himself.

No way. No officer had recognized him. And the darkness had allowed him to hide himself without the others notice.

Smart and annoying. And to say that he even had the audacity to speak to him, the inspector Clarke.

Clarke grabbed the uniform on the table: it’s a real one, not a copy, he surely had good contacts.

He may had come back here after seeing his pages fall over the guardrail. Feeling the wind turning, he escaped again, through the window.

Clarke tried to open it.

\- The thug had even taken the time to lock it, says Clarke annoyed.

The inspector turned around and searched the closets and the drawers, until finding a bunch of keys, all in duplicate copies. The priests who lived there suffered a great from lots of theft: such precautions were not surprising.

Only one key was in a single copy. He grabbed it and closed the cupboard.

He could now resume his pursuit, and flee this place that stank like the rest of the church.

He looked one last time at the traces to get an idea of the individual. He was about six feet tall, as he had seen earlier. His shoes were of good facture, not studded: he was not a commoner, which was not surprising for a mage…

 

A large trace left in the dust on the ground made Clarke suppose that he was carrying a bag. An enameled linen bag, since cords had escaped from it. The smell of the room probably came from that bag.

Clarke froze as he approached the window, staring at the floor.

The trace of a tiny hand, on the ground, near the trail made by the bag.

A child’s hand.

Clarke shuddered.

The bag was containing… a kid?!

He opened the window with the key he just found and rushed out. Was there a connection with the kidnappings case, from the beginning?

Following the wall, and cutting through the cemetery, the inspector, moved by a trail, plunged into the first street only to find a dead end.

\- Why in the hell did this man take his son there, heard Clarke behind him.

He turned around quickly and saw three women. One was holding a baby in her arms, and they were chatting on the sidewalk.

\- Poor boy! He must be horribly ill, to be find in such a state.

\- That’s not like it isn’t commonplace, anyway, said the older woman.

The youngest, sitting by the sidewalk, the one with her child in her arms added:

\- From there to keep him in a bag!

\- This is not the worst thing we saw there, my girl, answered the older. What disgusts me is that this man must not earn a penny, and allows himself to go to such a place of perdition, to the boy’s detriment.

\- Even worse, since he brings the boy with him, where he could let him rest at his home, if he have one… finish the last.

He ceased to listen to the gossips, Clarke turned around and looked at the red and gold storefront that closed the dead end.  He entered without preamble into the Chinese commerce.

The atmosphere of the opium smokehouse was subdued, conducive to the dreams and abandonment of its customers. Without bothering to announce himself at the entrance, the inspector went straight into the room, paying no attention to the manager who was questioning him.

He opened every doors of the ground floor, then went upstairs and closed the latch behind him, paying no attention to the muffled shouts of the employees knocking the door.

The silence of the corridor hit him like a punch. He was near his goal, he could smell it.

He grabbed his whistle and pulled out his handgun. He slowly opened each door until he reached an unrealistic stage.

The room, unlike the others, was soberly decorated and didn’t smell opium. But it smelled of the same aroma as the candles and the paper sheets concealed in the church. Candles were lit and, although the atmosphere of the place was consistent with the rest of the smokehouse, it was terribly lugubrious.

On the ground, he saw from the corner of the door, a piece of the famous circle.

He found him, and he could hear him talking. Or rather, mumbling something in a low voice.

Clarke decided to try entering without opening further, by following the wall, afraid of making the hinges creak.

The sight offered to his eyes… chilled his blood.

In the center of the room, much larger than it appeared, the famous circle was drawn, surrounded by the same candles. The man jabbered, squatting in its center.

In one corner, in the middle of another relatively different circle, a child was lying.

No longer holding it, Clarke shot at the man and rushed to the child, lying on his stomach. The kid was dead, the chest butchered.

As he intended to observe the bag in which the child had been transported, a green gleam caught his attention.

Clarke turned around and saw the circle light up more and more.

He was too late.

The inspector opened the window and hissed three times in his whistle.

Gun in hand, he nervously watched the glow bright stronger.

A man.

Clarke pointed his weapon, right on the individual, and twitched his left eye.

The newcomer had a rifle hung on his back, a helmet on his head, and was dressed in a strange green and beige uniform. Physically, he was terribly banal.  Medium-sized, short brown hair and brown eyes.

No physical peculiarity except his accoutrement and this look… terribly tired.

The stranger raised an eyebrow when he saw the corpse at his feet, then winced more frankly at the sight of the child.

\- Sad.

Holding his weapon with both hands, the inspector raised the tone:

\- Don’t move! Slowly throw your weapon to the ground and decline your identity!

In the same gesture, Clarke raised an eyebrow, noting a strange wound on his own right hand.

He slightly turned his wrist to better observe it. Gesture that his interlocutor did not fail to notice.

Nevertheless, the man obeyed to the request, gently taking his rifle which he placed on the ground, next to the corpse. In front of the inspector, however, the individual marked a pause after having dropped his weapon, and Clarke heard him sighing loudly. The stranger straightened up and ran a hand over his face.

\- Your identity? Clarke chained.

The man clasped his hands, as if he was going to reveal bad news.

\- So, I think I’ve grasped the situation you’re in… It will surely be difficult to digest for you, and long and boring to explain for me…

\- The long version will be for the interrogatory room, if the Church does not confine you before. Be simple and concise, hissed the inspector, tightening the grip on his weapon, blinking as if something was itching.

\- Very good, informal then.

The man smirked, then suddenly stood at attention:

\- Soldier of the 32nd Field Artillery Regiment, dead for France. But since all this must certainly not tell you anything, I think that Archer will suffice. As long as we keep common goals and beliefs, I’m sure we’ll go far in this war, Master.

…

A long silence settled.

Neither of the two men flinched, one always threatening the other still at attention.

\- Excuse me? Answered Clarke while highly raising his eyebrow.

The inspector widened his eyes and lowered his guard. Dazed by what his eyes made him see. At the same time, the door was smashed by three of his men, aiming their weapons and screaming:

\- Scotland Yard police, no one moves! …damn Inspector, you were here! What happened?

The police officer tidied his weapon and showed the rest of the room by the chin to the others. The second officer began to walk around the corpses while the last one went down the stairs to warn the latecomers about the situation.

\- Inspector, are you alright?

Clarke didn’t move, a hand on his face, eyes staring at a non-existent point. He didn’t know if he had hallucinated or if something… well, someone had been summoned by this circle, but…

In front of him, the man was no longer there, as if he had never been. Evaporated, or imagined? Opium does not have such a powerful effect! He had only felt some… and the room didn’t smell opium at all, it smelled… that same smell…

Where did it come from? If only he knew it, he could perhaps understand what had happened to him.

A drug? Something related to magic?

But this smell was completely unknown to him.

\- Sir! You hear me!

Clarke finally came out of his torpor to face one of his agents.

\- Ah, Walter, it’s you.

He rubbed his eyes mechanically as if to erase a bad dream. Around him, his agents had already been busy caring for the corpses as well as the scene of the crime.

\- Yes, sir. We wait for your orders, sir, the men are preparing the evacuation of the corpses, but nothing will be done without your authorization.

\- Yes, good job. The man lying in the middle of the circle is our target. I was forced to shoot him. No identity for the moment, it will be necessary to delve meticulously in his stuffs. The child died before my arrival. Ask to reopen the kidnapping case in parallel to this one, the two cases might be related.

He then took out a notebook on which he quickly scribbled something.

\- Many things will have to be settled tonight and I can’t be everywhere. I’m going to report to Scotland Yard as soon as possible so that the case can keep going. I will call immediately for the succession to be taken. For now on, don’t touch anything and wait until a police inspector resumes the investigation.

\- Yes, sir.

Clarke took a deep breath and winced.

\- There is this smell, too.

\- It’s true that the opium stinks, replied the officer.

\- No Walter, I was not talking about opium. You don’t smell anything? There is an indefinable smell in the air… and everywhere our man was. You didn’t feel anything particular in the church?

\- Besides the musty… I assure you that I do not see what you’re talking about.

The agent turned around and questioned his colleagues:

\- Say you guys, did you smell a peculiar thing in the church?

\- No, I don’t think so, answered one.

\- The dust made me sneeze!

\- I have a cold for three days, so…

Clarke sighed and went down the stairs. All the clients of the smokehouse were standing together in one place for questioning. Clarke went to the manager of the premises surrounded by his employees. He was a Chinese man in his fifties, standing upright with a passive air.

\- The phone please, sir.

The manager first stared at the inspector and finally pointed to the counter at the entrance.

He then called for reinforcements to replace his men for the night, then went to Scotland Yard.

In the carriage, the image of the invocation came back to him. Now that he thought about it, he had not spoken to his men about it. Because deep down, he himself did not really believe it. How could someone magically disappear?

He giggled and called himself a fool. By magic obviously. It was a circle of necromancy after all ... What shit did he get into?

His gaze riveted on his hand. Damn, he had completely forgotten that mark. Very stylized, moreover. He rubbed it. It was certainly indelible, and...

The smell emanated from it. Always the same.

Now he was sure of it. Everything was linked to magic. And that smell too. What he did not explain was that he was the only one to feel it.

And the biggest problem was the invocation. What could he say in his report? That the invocation took place and that the invoked had suddenly disappeared?

He could, but something told him that maybe it was not a very good idea. Especially as regards the mark on his hand. If he declared it, he would be included in the investigation as a suspect.

It may have been the best thing to do. But when the investigation was partly supported by the Church and especially when the case was related to necromancy we could expect everything. Like seeing the Common Law flouted, and ending up guilty with one and only proof.

And here the proof was tattooed on his hand. No suspects, only guilty in this kind of business. The Church does not care about the laws of each country. And the necromancer was now dead. No witnesses ... other than himself. At best he would pass for a madman.

If only English justice could apply to all affairs on its territory.

When the carriage arrived at his destination, he entered the building and went up to his office to report.

As agreed, he mentioned the investigation of the Church to the opium smoker, the discovery of the suspect making his invocation, and at the same time reminded his right to fire in case of practice dangerous magic. He concludes by explaining the presence of the deceased child as well as the potential link with the abduction case, thus omitting the outcome of the summoning and what ensued from it. He thought for a moment and decided to point out that his incompetence in the field of magic did not allow him to know if he had been able to eliminate the man in time. He finally filed the file on the desk of his superior adding some recommendations for further investigation.

He went down into the hall and glanced at the clock, which was 9:25 pm.

He sighed with exasperation and walked out of the building.

A desperately long, tiring, annoying day, full of new problems had just ended.

He breathed for a few moments the air on the forecourt, playing with the mist that produced his breathing in contact with the cold air of the night.

First moment of tranquility of the evening.

He smiled and plunged into the darkened street at night with a more playful step.

The only good news of the day had just crossed his mind:

"This time we go home for good."

x

* * *

x

The Mayflower pub presented itself as a Baroque theater: on a backdrop, giving the tone and the general atmosphere, various plans were conceived, giving life and depth to the whole.

It was a rectangular room, with warm wooded colors, lit by yellowish lamps that were badly distributed, where chairs, tables, drinks, customers, bar and bartender were piled up in no real order.

The tables in the center were always the loudest. The sailors who came back on the ground and were looking for new employers found themselves there where they gambled, whether on cards or at arm wrestling, and exchanged the latest news from the city. The most courageous mingled, and often became the most regular consumers at the pub.

Guests who were less comfortable in such a place, or simply passing through, often preferred to sit near the windows, as if the mere sight of the outside allowed them to temporarily escape the atmosphere filled with tobacco and strong voices of customary customers.

A poorly dressed kid sometimes reported a commission against a few coins.

The bartender and his employees were busy filling the tankards and smiling at the most intimidated.

Through the cloud of tobacco, a masked figure placed some coins on the counter, and then snuck his way to the back of the room. The drunk customers were sometimes placed there by the waiters to be closer to sanitary. The man let a bloody bag slip from his shoulder to his usual table.

The service door opened behind him. The waiter announced in person, his tray full of new drinks, that the stocks were full again.

In a general craze, a crowd of customers, previously quietly settled, rushed to the counter to demand a new consumption.

A voice among others called in the mass for discount to celebrate the event of the evening. Gradually, the idea was resumed until the room screamed at the free-for-all.

At tables now empty, a man stared at the back of the room leaning against his chair. Dressed in his usual cap and sailor's jacket, the old sea-goat, who had surely once been a harpooner, was staring at his tobacco ring for a cigar. With his other hand he suddenly turned his glass on the table and put his ring in his jacket. At the same time he drew from it a lighter and then a purse, which he placed in front of him.

Nervously the sailor played with the lighter without ever lighting his cigar. At the same time the bartender won the showdown against one of his biggest customers, winning the bet: to refuse the free-for-all and demand full price from all those who claimed it.

Under the laughter of the staff and the disappointed exclamations of the customers, the old sailor finally lit cigar as a silhouette entered his field of vision.

Around 10p.m, a masked individual was leaving the pub Mayflower, purse in hand.

As he was leaving, a kid got in and ran off, frightened by his raven mask.

x

* * *

x

Time passed, punctuated at first by the sound of footsteps and the random creaking of the floor, then finally by the disagreeable friction of chalk scratching on wood.

Hideaki Tohsaka had to take all the necessary precautions. Stamping in the office, he reread excerpts from his book.  Sheets and pieces of paper of various sizes that were not piled on the desk were scattered in the room. Sometimes he grabbed one and then casually threw it behind him, completely absorbed in his own thinking: the book was not enough and he knew it, so he had prepared his own notes, reflections and improvements to the ceremony. Each change was meant to bring up Saber.

Nevertheless, a vast space in the center remained perfectly empty in these shambles. A complex white line emerged from the floor, surrounded by multiple notes scattered here and there.

Squatting on the ground, the circle of invocation ready, the young man undertook arranging the little candles around the circle without stepping on it, carelessly pushing the awkward sheets with his foot. It was useless to light them immediately; the invocation would not take place until later in the evening.

Someone knocked on the office door. Tohsaka clenched instantly.

He was not supposed to start the circle without the consent and the presence of the Edelfelts. But not answering would only make the situation worse.

\- Yes? Who is there? he began cautiously.

\- The butler of Madam and Sir, answered a deep voice muffled by the wood of the door. Hideaki thought that the insulation of the walls was remarkable. I knocked on the front door Sir, said the man, and in the absence of an answer, I allowed myself to enter your apartments. May I open the door, Sir?

\- … Yes, go ahead, he said, gritting his teeth.

The servant pushed the handle, then the door with a sure gesture, causing a few sheets to fly off at the same time. The man was relatively tall, and although he did not seem to be over 45, his hair was almost entirely white. However, the most disturbing thing to Tohsaka's eyes was his glasses. Tinted with a particularly dark green, it was impossible to discern his eyes through them. It was very disturbing and to say the least, unusual.

It was therefore impossible for Tohsaka to determine whether the butler was paying attention or not to the chaos that was spreading in front of him, since he resumed naturally:

\- I come from Madam. This one asks you for dinner. She also wants me to tell you that she does not trust you, Sir, to come on time at the meal.

\- Tell her I'm coming...

Tohsaka carelessly swept the air to signal the butler to leave him alone. The latter, however, did not make the slightest gesture.

\- Madame asked me to accompany Sir, he said, turning to the clock of the sitting room. And the meal takes place in 7 minutes.

The young man looked hastily at his pocket watch.

\- Damn!

Hideaki immediately put the candle he had in his hand on the desk.

He walked out of the office over the paperwork spread around the circle and went to his room to dress more appropriately. He came out of it quickly, rid of his dirty clothes, wearing a dry suit that was more suitable.

He ended up leaving the apartments with the butler and locked the front door twice.

\- Please Sir, follow me and press the pace, Madam is very punctual.

The man was particularly intimidating, and Tohsaka followed suit. He caught up with him little by little and took the opportunity to look at the man's eyes behind his glasses. He did not have time to see much, because at the same moment the man suddenly turned his head towards a perpendicular corridor, screaming:

\- ANNA!

Turning in the same direction as the man, Hideaki had just enough time to see the young servant who had led him to his apartments at the end of the hallway. Hearing the howling, she rushed to the first intersection, smiling, a basket in hand.

The butler groaned, and resumed his way, followed by Tohsaka, who was slightly surprised.

\- This is Anna, a girl a little too casual for this job ... The housekeeper dreams of firing her, but she is the favorite maid of Sarah, Madam’s sister. Apparently, her daring pleases her a lot, he added, a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Her daring ... the word was weak.

\- Well, here we are, Sir.

At last, at the top of the main staircase, the butler led the man to the door of what must have been the dining room.

Tohsaka looked at his watch mechanically. Just in time - his host should not guess that he had not followed their directions. Mary Edelfelt was as kind as she could be stubborn. And the Edelfelts never talked lightly about the war.

The man walked towards the imposing doors.

\- I wish you a good meal, Sir.

At the same moment he opened the door and motioned Hideaki to enter.

The room was splendid.

\- Well Hideaki! I did well to ask Mark to accompany you. You're right on time. Take a seat, please.

Smiling, the hostess pointed to a seat next to another young woman, who was in every aspect identical to Mary Edelfelt.

He sat down and saluted her.

\- Good evening Sarah, it's been a long time.

She smiled timidly, eyes blank, finally turning to him.

\- Hello.

If Mary Edelfelt was rather playful, Sarah Edelfelt seemed rather calm and discreet. Diplomat and resonant in a very fair way, she often became evasive, disinterested, even annoyed when talking about magic.

Hideaki sighed at this thought.  Sarah could have been an extra ally of great value.

\- And I present you my husband, Henry Clifford.

Cutting into his thoughts, Tohsaka realized that a man in his thirties was sitting in front of him. The man was rather slender, standing at the  table with the dignified dress of the English seemliness. His hair was black, just like his eyes, which contrasted terribly with his pale skin. His face was characterized by a hooked nose, short eyebrows, and a marked jaw, adorned with a long beard .

The man was looking at him with a simple, straightforward smile, which surprised Tohsaka.

\- Hello Mr. Tohsaka! It's a pleasure to meet you!

He reached out a hand across the table that Hideaki finally grabbed. The man was shaking it tightly.

\- It is rather rare to meet old acquaintances of my wife, you know? Henry said, letting go his interlocutor's hand. Mary has always been very taken by her duty as heiress to the Edelfelt.

\- I'm also happy to meet you ... answered Hideaki.

\- Henry, call me Henry, the man added.

While the husband Edelfelt was making conversation, some servants came to put dishes under bells on the table.

Hideaki was really impressed by all the splendor exhibited by the Edelfelt family. Remaining silent, he listened to Henry's near-monologue. He learned that the Edelfelt couple had been married for almost two years now. They apparently met at a symposium organized in one of the Clock Tower’s amphitheaters. In this regard, the Clifford family was, according to his words, one of the most important families of mages in Britain. Which made it, indeed, an interesting party for the venerable Edelfelt family.

\- Are you a mage yourself? Hideaki asked.

\- Yes, I studied at the Clock Tower, just like Mary. And I regularly come back for lectures. Unfortunately, I have never been able to develop any major practical arrangements, but I remain somehow a recognized theorist.

\- Do you have a favorite field?

\- Since the Clock Tower has lost its greatest Mineralogy specialist, specialists in this field are welcome, (so) I’ve…

At this evocation, Hideaki frowned.

\- One moment ... You’re talking about Lord Ghisolfo? The most recognized specialist of the continent in Mineralogy? Why doesn’t he teach anymore?

\- So you have not been informed? The bell tower was attacked almost four years ago. The attack was dazzling and terribly barbaric. About twenty mages lost their lives in the laboratory of the Fourth Department, poisoned or impaled by crossbow bolts. The case of Lord Ghisolfo, however, was the most terrifying. He was found dying in his office, pierced right through. Needless to say, he could not survive such a bestial attack.

\- The Lord has been tortured? Underlined Tohsaka.

\- Certainly ... and the reason of this attack will forever be a mystery. The attack was conducted in less than twenty minutes, the reinforcements arrived too late. We do not know who they were, nor how many, much less the objective of their assault. Security was reformed soon after this incident.

\- I see ... About security, Mary, I was able to observe when arriving one of your barriers of protection ... I imagine that there are others, right?

Tohsaka did not bother to look the young woman in the eye and continued his meal while waiting for her answer. If he showed at that moment a dignified and assured attitude, it was because he actually realized he had asked his last question very clumsily.

Mary watched the young man's game, not at all deceived by his casual behavior, and burst out laughing:

\- Ah, if you did not exist Hideaki, you'd have to be invented! But here we go ... the external barrier is indeed not the only one. With the help of my husband, we were able to strategically dispose: alarms, barriers of protection, traps ... And I bet the most effective: portals of invocations and bottomless labyrinths. And the barrier that you have seen on your arrival is, of course, to repel the enemy, but also to hide any activity inside our home. Magic emanations cannot be detected. You can perform your invocation without fear of being spotted, she said smiling.

\- This dome is invisible from the outside ... I did not pay attention when arriving.

\- Of course… Sarah growled.

\- Absolutely ... said Mary. Strategically, staying in anonymity, or at least being as discreet as possible, is surely part of your priorities. Besides, I'll have to give you something to wear. The English appreciate the attention to details in their pageantry. Especially for individuals of our rank.

She tilted her head and stared at Tohsaka for a moment, who stopped in his movements, perplexed. Mary, cheerful, turned her face to her husband.

\- I'm sure a hat would suit him.  What do you think about that Henry?

\- I think you put a lot of ardor in embarrassing our guest, Mary.

With these words, Mary stood up straight, sulky, while her husband finished his glass of wine with a sneer.

Hideaki, pleasantly surprised by the good agreement of the couple, spoke again:

\- It's always nice to see such a complicity ... he began, getting their attention.  I imagine the family will expand quickly in the coming years, he finished with a sincere smile.

A tense silence answered him.

Henry looked at his wife with an embarrassed smile, as she was not smiling at all.

\- Indeed, allowed Henry to clumsily resume himself ... But tell me, I am curious to know how you intend to perform the invocation. Do you have a specific artifact?

Tohsaka gradually recovered from his surprise and answered:

\- Well, my first goal is to invoke Saber first ... he began, playing with his fork. So I have done various research to be certain to become his Master. And you're right, because Saber will not be randomly summoned, I managed to get my hands on a horseshoe that was designed in Asia during the medieval period. As for the subject of the invocation ... as Mary said, caution is in order and I intend to keep this with me as long as possible. Yes, Mary, no point in looking at me, I do not want my allies to know who my servant will be. Besides, I think you have said enough on the subject.

\- Hideaki?

The voice of Sarah Edelfelt which had remained very discreet throughout the meal surprised Tohsaka.

\- Why ... she inhaled and resumed, why on earth did you come to London when the Grail War always took place in Fuyuki? And why is it only 20 years after the Second one? What’s going on, exactly?

Sarah, usually so calm and peaceful, was looking at Tohsaka right in the eyes, anxious.

He sighed.

\- She is not wrong, said Mary. The last war dates back 28 years, which is very short in comparison to the interval of time separating the two previous wars. And I confess I was very surprised when you told me that the Third Grail War was about to begin. Is there a particular reason for this phenomenon?

\- I admit I can’t give you a satisfactory answer. I admit I didn’t really know until I received the mark of the Grail.

Tohsaka then pointed to the back of his left hand.

\- To tell the truth, no one has ever really known if there was a Grail rule about it. Maybe the time interval between two wars is random. Even though I can’t be sure of that. However, the Grail cannot be summoned in another place than Fuyuki, and on this point I agree with you. The Lower Grail has certainly undergone stresses of magical origin. Only the Einzbern family can orchestrate the invocation of the Grail, and the Einzberns have no interest in moving the place of the war. That they advance it, on the other hand, can give them an advantage - after all, they are the suppliers of the receptacle...

\- What if it was not the Einzberns? Sarah asked.

\- It does not matter anymore. The war is imminent and whatever its origin we must be prepared.

The meal ended quietly while Henry fed the conversation. Once finished, Mary stood up and addressed Tohsaka.

\- Do you want me to help you in preparing the invocation?

Hiedaki tensed.

\- Well, the preparations are already over...

\- What? Hideaki, I told you to wait until the diner...

\- He did right, Mary, Sarah interrupted, the faster the summoning is done, the better you'll get organized.

She turned and headed for the exit.

\- Good evening, she finished slamming the door.

Mary sighed:

\- Well ... let's go, I guess.

After they arrived in Tohsaka's apartments, Mary asked her husband to leave them. What was going to happen was only the Tohsakas’ and the Edelfelts’ matter.

 

Entering the office, Mary scanned the room, stunned.

\- How did you end up with such a shamble?!

Tohsaka did not even listen to his host and resumed what he was doing before the meal. He started lightning the candles and arrange them around the invocation circle.

\- Everything is ready, he announced to Mary.

\- Do I have to add protections in anticipation?

\- It will not be necessary... Step back, the ceremony must begin.

Mary moved away from one corner of the room, avoiding in vain to trample the sheets scattered on the ground.

Tohsaka went to the office. He cautiously grabbed a package made of fabric, yellowed by time and wear, roughly closed by a blackened cord.

He pulled on the knot sealing the object the size of a hand and unraveled it. Inside was a box of elm wood with a raw iron clasp. On the wood was carved an elongated mark reminiscent of writing. The clasp, finely worked, drew arabesques on the edge of the box.

Tohsaka opened it and pulled out a horseshoe rusted by time. He placed the artifact on a table in front of the circle on the ground, then stepped back to face it.

The heir of Tohsaka was concentrating.

His eyes half closed, he raised his right hand towards the circle.

Finally, his voice proclaimed through silence:

 

 

> _Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill!_
> 
> _Five times repeated._
> 
> _Let the time given to us get locked away._
> 
> _Let silver and steel be the essence._
> 
> _Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation_
> 
> _Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall_
> 
> _Let the four cardinal gates close._
> 
> _Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate._
> 
> _I hereby declare:_
> 
>  
> 
> _Your body shall serve under me._
> 
> _My fate shall be your sword._
> 
> _Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail_
> 
> _If you will submit to this will and this reason… Then answer!_
> 
> _An oath shall be sworn here!_
> 
> _I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven._
> 
> _I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!_
> 
> _From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,_
> 
> _Come forth from the ring of restraints,_
> 
> _Protector of the Holy Balance!_

In the center of the circle, a burst of light violently dazzled in the office, for a moment so short that Tohsaka thought he had dreamed it.

Barely a few seconds passed, when a light wind seemed to rise in the closed office, gradually turning into a gust more and more violent. The leaflets scattered in the hall swirled in a furious whirlwind, while the glare reappeared very feebly in the center of the circle at a height of one meter. A loud whistle sounded louder and louder as the glow intensified until it burst into a loud, dazzling crash.

In this torrent of violence, Hideaki took shelter with both his arms, while Mary huddled in the corner of the room where she was, pressing her hands to her ears and keeping her eyes closed.

Thus took place the invocation of the Hideaki Tohsaka’s Servant, in a saturated atmosphere as violent as unnatural.

x

* * *

x

The bells were ringing, the morning Mass had ended with the blessing, just after the announcements of the diocese.

The parishioners had just learned that they would not see their bishop for the next few weeks. The rest of the diocese either.

Bishop Lowell Connor was sent on mission by the Church.

After the end of the Mass, while the organ still sounded the last song, the parishioners came one by one to say goodbye to their beloved bishop, wishing him good luck for his mission. Some old women pressed his hand insistently, supporting the goodness and benevolence of the man of the Church who was going to miss them. Still others congratulated and encouraged him as to the good execution of his future mission, which had been entrusted to him by God. Whatever may be the future that awaited him, God trusted his apostles. Some children were urged by their mothers to say goodbye, and to promise to continue their catechism.

The church was emptying little by little.

The organist left last, wishing Bishop Connor good luck. On leaving, he locked the doors of the church, leaving him and four other priests alone, near the large wooden door now closed.

Lowell Connor, a robust man with a good-natured face, then turned to his colleagues, a serene smile stuck to his lips.

\- It's time to get ready, our guests should arrive soon.

With the same gesture of approval, the four priests worked to remove the benches in order to make order in the nave. During this time, Connor went to change, and put on the red habit reserved for the bishops.

In the lodge reserved for the ecclesiastical body, he paused for a moment before the cross installed. He humbly clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and recited in a low voice the Lord's Prayer.

 

 

> _"Our father in heavens,_
> 
> _Hallowed be thy name,_
> 
> _Thy kingdom come,_
> 
> _Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven._
> 
> _Give us this day our daily bread._
> 
> _And forgive us our debts,_
> 
> _As we have forgiven our debtors._
> 
> _And do not bring us to the time of trial,_
> 
> _But rescue us from Evil. "_

The time of silence, he spreads his hands and lifted his palms to the ceiling.

 

 

> _"For thou belong to:_
> 
> _Kingdom, power and glory,_
> 
> _For centuries and centuries._
> 
> _Amen »_

The man heard voices in the nave. After a last sign of the cross, he left the box and saw four confreres still dressed in their traveling clothes. With a smile on his face, he made his way to one of the arrivals wearing a purple cape:

\- I welcome you, Archbishop Theodore, it is a real honor to receive one of the cardinals of the Eighth Sacrament in this place.

\- Glad to meet you, Bishop Connor, I will be your guarantor and guide to engage the mission that is yours.

Cardinal Theodore Dwight was a dry, tall man. His salt-and-pepper hair barely beneath his earlobes was carefully combed to the back of his skull.  He cast his pale eyes into those of the bishop.

The cardinal turned to his three comrades whom he pointed with a gesture.

The first of the three men was dressed in a beige box and a brown cape. His round face, rosy by the cold was crowned with a tonsure revealing some entirely white hair. The man, very small, was wearing round glasses on his childish nose.

On his right, his colleague of greater stature, wore a white monk's robe and a thick black hooded coat. The man with the bushy eyebrows had his head shaved and a thick black beard.

Finally, the last individual was fully clothed in black and was almost as tall as his neighbor although thinner. Wearing a white-fringed tonsure, a beard and a cut mustache, his features were very marked, and gigantic sunken half-closed eyes.

\- Here is Brother Ernest, of the order of the Franciscans, said the cardinal, pointing to the little man nodding his approval. It is with him that we will discuss the conditions and rules that surround your future mission. Then comes Brother Ignas., the cardinal pointed out the man of high stature. Brother Ignas, like you, comes from the Dominican order. He will assist you with the help of Brother Edward, from the Benedictines who is there, the cardinal pointed to the man dressed in black before resuming.

\- Now that the presentations are done, it's time to get right to the point.

The cardinal then gradually advanced towards the heart of the church. His confident step echoed rhythmically as his voice thundered in echoes.

\- It turns out that I sent you the minimum information on the subject, and this for the sake of discretion. The sacred mission that was directly entrusted to you by the Eighth Sacrament Council requires great capacities, both martial and magical. However, the reason that led us to choose you is in no way related to these qualities, as important as it is for the future.

He stopped in front of the steps of the hotel, and all his colleagues following him, and looked at the crucifix raised in height.

\- Lowell Connor, I have the great honor to announce to you that you have been chosen by our Lord in person to accomplish his quest.

With a movement of theatrical cape, Cardinal Theodore turned out and stared at Father Connor with his sharp eyes.

\- Indeed, I say to you, it is by God Himself that you have been entrusted with the holy task of representing the Church in the next Great War of the Holy Grail.

Looking at Father Connor's surprised look, Brother Ernest intervened:

\- To be more precise, you have been designated through the Holy Grail which has left you its mark... on the right hand precisely.

The little man adjusted his glasses and pulled from his cloak a notebook that he consulted while resuming.

\- We received your queries on this subject by mail last week ... I quote: "A blood red mark appeared overnight on the back of your right hand. No recent fact explains its appearance. Indelible and painless it separates into three parts: an arc of a circle directed towards the wrist; a sun with four points, located inside; and finally an irregular line recalling a needle from the wrist to the solar symbol. ". You were quite right to suppose that this mark was of sacred order besides... can I see it?

Father Connor lifted his sleeve and pointed to the back of his hand for the little monk.

\- It corresponds perfectly, it is indeed Command Seals offered by the Holy Grail to the elected officials of the Great War. Be reassured, this brand is not harmful, on the contrary. The Church has never had its representative in the previous battles, and now you will finally represent our party, he smiles.

Father Connor and the two young priests accompanying him did not hide their surprise.

\- So, began the bishop, this war is not a myth...

\- That you thought otherwise would be insulting, laughs the cardinal, keeping this kind of things secretly belongs to the remit of the Council of the Eighth Sacrament itself.

Father Ernest continued:

\- As you know, your goal is to win this war so that the Holy Grail can finally resume its original and legitimate place within the Church.

The grave voice of Brother Ignas took over:

\- In order to make the Divine Fear prevail, you will have to be the armed arm of God. And for that you will have to appeal to a divine envoy.

The voice of Brother Edward shouted:

\- During this war, seven spirits will fight to win the Grail, the majority, poor fishermen, act to satisfy their desires, seeing one of their wishes to be granted. Each of them grants the right by the mark affixed on their hand to invoke a Heroic Spirit. Thus making the summoner a Master and the hero invoked his Servant. The Servant's identity and abilities depend on the Summoner's personality as well as the manner in which the Summoning takes place.

He turned to the empty nave.

\- We will use this space to prepare the invocation. I will assist you personally with the help of Brother Ignas.

\- There are seven categories of Servant, ranked according to their combat skills: Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Assassin and Berserker. Each of these classes has its qualities as well as its defaults. Nevertheless, three of them stand out from the others. These are the three Knights Saber, Archer and Lancer. Obtain one of these Servant will guarantee to succeed this war. We will also start preparing the invocation, with the help of your two confreres. If you will follow me, he said to the two priests usually assisting the bishop.

The two young priests went to help the brothers Ignas and Edward.

Let's talk somewhere else, will you? Proposed Theodore.

\- Of course gentlemen, follow me.

Father Connor took the cardinal and the Franciscan monk to the priests' box. The monk then spoke again.

\- I would like us to talk again about your Command Seals... yes I'm talking about the famous mark on your hand. You need to know that all participants also have a similar brand, although the three reasons are different. It's a pretty effective way to identify other Master's. These seals of commandments will allow you to give your Servant three absolute and irrevocable orders. It's up to you to use them strategically or in case of extreme necessity. However ... if it happened that all the seals of commands at your disposal are used. You will lose your legitimacy as a Master and will be excluded from the Holy War. Finally, continued the cardinal, unless you have any questions to ask we will pass to your part in the making of the invocation. Do you feel ready?

The bishop looked for a moment through the stained glass window, time to put in order the multitude of information he had just swallowed and then finally answered the bishop.

\- Yes, I am ready.

At this reply, the cardinal's mouth stretched into a large satisfied smile:

\- So be very careful to what I'm going to teach you...

At the same time, in the nave, the two monks were busy tracing on a gigantic sheet, spread in the center of the nave, charcoal incantations, which they ended up delimiting with three concentric circles.

The two young priests who were assisting them, observed their ride with, curiosity for one and anxiety for the other. If Father Rhys was passionate about anything related to sacred rites, his confrere, Father Adriel, seemed to be somewhat afraid of what was happening before his eyes.

The two monks had first asked them to help out with the equipment on a carriage still outside. Father Rhys being sickly and too puny to carry heavy loads, it was Father Adriel who had been instructed to fetch, in the cold of winter, the necessary material for the famous invocation, with the help of the coachman.

The myth of the Holy Grail was unknown to anyone, the sacred cup containing the blood of the Christ, was one of the most coveted relics, and many chalices had been studied in the vain hope of finally discovering the mythical object of Arthurian legends.

Once back in the church, his arms cluttered, he barely had time to see the brown head of his colleague, when he freed him of a large white tablecloth, folded in the box he carried.

The tablecloth, which proved to be much larger than he had thought, was spread on the ground. And as he continued to empty the contents of the box, Adriel could watch Father Rhys busy with the preparation of the ritual, following the orders of Father Connor's guests.

And it was by seeing the invocation circle traced on the ground that he thought back to the second legend surrounding the Holy Grail. The legend of the Grail War, to which his mentor would have to participate.

At the same time known to all priests, on the surface at least, and terribly misunderstood in depth. A recurrent war organized in obscure conditions. A true myth in short, and a very well-kept secret by the Council of the Eighth Sacrament of what he understood.

Adriel did not really like magic, for him, it was too often synonymous with war. It corrupted the Church since the Crusades. And in his eyes what was unfolding before him was magic, no matter whether it was done in the name of God or not.

“You have broad shoulders, Lord," he whispered to himself as much as to the entity to which he had dedicated his life.

\- Well, did not you hear what I asked you?

Adriel jumped, and turned to Brother Edward, who was staring at him with terribly indifferent air, his head bowed slightly and his hands crossed behind his back. The brother smiles:

\- Change that expression on your face that looks bewildered, he said with a wave of the hand, I saw that you seemed preoccupied... father?

\- Father Adriel, my brother.

\- Well, Father Adriel, when you feel ready, I would like you to place the candles at the points indicated by ocher crosses, around the sacred invocation circle.

\- Of course, Sir! Please excuse me…

The father was busy taking a linen bag filled with candles out of the box, which he applied to arrange around the circle, in the places indicated. At the same time, Father Rhys pulled a lighter out of the box and lit the candles, following the movement of Adriel who put them one by one. The atmosphere of the Church was something mystical, bathed in the light of day radiating through the stained glass, the light of the candles had really only interest for the ritual.

The invocation circle in the center of the nave, thus illuminated, seemed to be approved by divine grace. Subjugated by this painting, Adriel finally thought that no matter what was going to happen, only faith would guide the thought and deeds of a man as good as Father Connor.

Footsteps sounded as the bishop, the cardinal, and Brother Ernest solemnly emerged from the priests' box.

\- The ritual is ready, Archbishop, said Brother Edward.

The cardinal then addressed Father Connor.

\- The rest depends only on you now... May the Holy Spirit guide your steps in this holy enterprise.

The Cardinal climbed the stairs leading to the hotel and placed himself on the highest of them. The Ernest and Ignas brothers joined him on both sides, a few steps below. Father Ignas seemed to hesitate for a moment, then approached the cardinal a moment to whisper a few words to him:

\- Don’t you think that an artifact is needed?

\- Well, I think it would be more interesting to see what the Lord's chosen will invoke of himself, he answered in a low voice.

As Brother Ignas took place, Father Edward chanted a passage from the Bible that Father Rhys was holding against him.

Father Connor placed himself in front of the circle, so that he found himself on the other side of his confrere, facing the hotel and the gigantic crucifix behind it. The cons-day made the sacred cross still more imposing, spreading its shadow down the steps. Father Adriel, walking around the circle ceremoniously, provided a censer that he was swinging along a chain at a steady pace.

Lowell Connor closed his eyes, only the psalmody resounded in those sacred places. He let himself go to the melody of the prayer, and when finally the church returned in its silence, serene, he opened his eyes, spread his arms and recited in a loud and ceremonial voice:

 

 

> _Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill!_
> 
> _Five times repeated._
> 
> _Let the time given to us get locked away._
> 
> _Let silver and steel be the essence._
> 
> _Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation_
> 
> _O cup that causes rain and spreads fire,_
> 
> _Pouring on the apostles in the upper room of Sion_
> 
> _Belonging to the Holy Spirit, the source of divine treasures,_
> 
> _Thou, who are everywhere and fill everything,_
> 
> _I hereby declare:_
> 
>  
> 
> _Your body shall serve under me._
> 
> _My fate shall be your sword._
> 
> _Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail_
> 
> _If you will submit to this will and this reason… Then answer!_
> 
> _An oath shall be sworn here!_
> 
> _I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven._
> 
> _I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!_
> 
> _From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,_
> 
> _Come forth from the ring of restraints,_
> 
> _Protector of the Holy Balance!_

The last words pronounced by Father Connor resounded for a few moments in the church.

Then very slowly, the black acronyms emitted a faint glow which rose little by little in a multitude of small luminous globes, thus making think of a cloud of fireflies. The whole stagnated in the air for a moment, before turning on itself, in a ballet faster and faster, accompanied by a high whistling, to finally focus in the center of the circle. The luminous form became clear, finally making room for a Servant.

A great silence followed the invocation.

Brother Ignas turned his head quickly to the cardinal. He thus discovered his wide-eyes of him and the amazed faces of his colleagues. Closer to the circle, Father Connor was dubiously watching his Servant, while Father Adriel carelessly slid the censer, producing a tinkle that finally broke the silence.

In the center of the circle was a young woman, or rather a young girl, a teenager who still had the sweet features of childhood on her face. The latter was surrounded by a long purple hair and a bangs over her closed eyes. The long monastic robe she wore, as well as the guimpe which rose to her neck, testified to her belonging to the religious orders.

Father Ignas growled:

\- Neither Saber, nor Lancer, nor Archer...

At these words the cardinal sighed.

Father Adriel seemed completely out of touch with reality. How could such a frail girl be sent as a human weapon in this war?!

Slowly she opened her eyes, revealing an empty and haggard look, as purple as the blood.

\- You, who had the audacity to pronounce these words, she whispered, her eyes fixed on emptiness. You who have made the promise to win, she went on, looking up at the shivering cardinal.

She turned around suddenly, making the skirts of her dress fly, and stared at the bishop with her now-glowing eyes.

\- Servant of the Lord...

The sentence rang out a moment before finally the young woman declares with a huge smile:

\- I ask you ... Are you my master?

 


	2. CHAPTER I – LAST RESPITES

**CHAPTER 1 – LAST RESPITES**

In that cool autumn night, a clear moon lit the streets of London through the ambient fog. At times, the sky cleared up, revealing its white, round face. Keeper of dreams and wonders for the poets, it nevertheless illustrated the first witness of the crazy nocturnal activity, and not very moral, which agitated the heart of London.

In one of the many neighborhoods of East End, where hovels heaped up, marks of brigands, taverns and places of perditions, stood out one of the many brothels, much more noisy than usual.

A distinct laugh rose through the front door, powerful and vigorous.

That night, the Aphrodite's Iris hostel was completely obsessed with one and same customer, who, as an exception, had reserved the entire staff for his attention. In the middle of the largest room of the establishment, a man was sitting on the edge of a vaguely arranged bed. Small in size but nevertheless of strong constitution, the man with Asian features was surrounded by women who clung to him with the softness of their know-how.

Although many did not choose to do this job, none seemed to complain about this particular client. If the martial physiognomy of the individual had first frightened them, he finally turned out to be a charismatic, laughing and passionate man. The girls enjoyed the party as much as he was, laughing loudly.

Suddenly, a deep voice echoed in the ears of the stranger:

"A suspicious sound, my King ..."

\- What are you waiting to check? Claimed high and loud the oriental, making startle young women around, who looked at each other surprised and confused.

Little by little the prostitutes were quieting to stare at the man, in order to understand the strange request.

"Yes, my King," whispered the voice that the young women seemed not to hear.

Realizing that the atmosphere of the room had lost its beauty, the man made the air vibrate with a thunderous laugh.

\- Well, my daughters! Repaint me your sweet little face of yours with beautiful smiles!

He took a jug of wine filled to the brim, which was holding by one of the little dressed young women on a wooden tray, and lifted it suddenly in the air.

\- And that everyone drinks! It’s my treat, tonight!

As cheering exclamations rose in the room, the immaterial source of the strange voice rushed through the London streets.

Dark, dirty and evil were the lanes of the Radcliffe Highway. Sometimes punctuated by the lapping of the river below, and regularly agitated by screams whose origins were, by convention, conscientiously silent, unless we track in time the source of these noises that disturbed the night.

In a few moments, the voice resurfaced in the ear of his master.

"My King, a woman was murdered, in an alley nearby. The culprit did not leave a trace..."

Hearing these words, the man dropped his pitcher, still full, whose wine stained the dress of a girl on his right. Then, he straightened up in one movement, jostling those young ladies who didn’t understand what was happening, and her surprised faces came to liven up his roar:

\- WHAT? WHO DARE ATTACKING THE UNIVERSAL SOVEREIGN’S HERD? TOUCH THE CHILDREN OF GENGHIS KHAN MEANS DEFY GENGHIS KHAN!

The door opened abruptly, giving way to a furious and exhausted Hideaki Tohsaka:

\- FOR GOD’S SAKE, RIDER! He shouted without ceremony. I LOOKED EVERYWHERE FOR YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN A PLA-

\- QUIET WEAKLING! Answered the Royal Servant, with a murderous look.

A glimmer of defiance passed in his eyes as he continued:

\- AN IMPUDENT IS ON MY WAY! I CAN NOT LEAVE THIS AFFRONT UNPAID! HE WILL PAY FOR HIS CRIME WITH HIS LIFE AND WILL SUFFER A PUNISHMENT AT ITS HEIGHT!

Tohsaka was desperate to be obeyed by his Servant and tried one last time to be heard.

\- WILL YOU FINISH TO HEAR ME USELESS SERVANT?!

\- Well, dear friends, Rider said to the prostitutes, I had a good moment, but it's time for me to leave you. Having a good time with you was a pleasure which I hope was shared, he concluded with a laugh.

Instantly, he put on his warlike effects and headed for the exit, kissing a girl who chuckled in passing. He finally deigned to look at Tohsaka, who was leaning against the doorway and stared at him for a moment. Then putting a hand on the young man's shoulder, he said seriously:

\- I'm going to find this bastard... I leave you the honor to pay the girls, little guy!

Giving him a vigorous tap on the same shoulder, he disappeared, making three coins of an unusual color fall at his feet.

Tohsaka mechanically rubbed his aching joint.

Unhappy, he watched the three pieces rolling at his feet and finally fall one after the other in a metallic clang.

He sighed, realizing that the coins he had just been given came from ancient times and that he could do nothing about it.

\- Damn... what did I do to summon such a dissident Servant...?

x

* * *

 

x

Inspector Clarke did not live far from Scotland Yard’s central station. So he arrived at the foot of the building in which he was living, humming to stay awake and keep up the morale after the grueling day he had just finished. He climbed the stairs to his apartment, opened the door and locked it behind him.

He threw his things on the coat rack, which oscillated dangerously from right to left, then rushed into the kitchen and prepared tea...

At least that's what he intended to do, but the teapot was nowhere to be found. He searched the storage room, and returned to the living room to check that he had not left it on the table.

\- English tea does not demure its reputation, it’s excellent.

Clarke hallucinated realizing that in his living room, comfortably seated on his sofa, stood the individual who was previously invoked in the necromantic circle, in front of the coffee table on which enthroned the famous teapot, a burning mug in hand.

He instinctively pulled his revolver from his pocket, which he had forgotten to remove at the entrance.

\- YOU AGAIN! He bellowed.

\- But Master, I’m just enjoying a moment of tranquility with your tea ... It’s the first time I set foot in England, after all. You want me to serve you a cup? Something tells me you really need it.

\- STOP! Stop this masquerade right now! Who is Master? How did you get there?!

Seeing the agitation of his interlocutor, the unexpected visitor gently put his cup on the table.

\- The Master here is you, and I am your Servant, Archer. I understand that you did not perform the ritual to invoke me yourself. Finally, I did quite well answering the call of this child killer... At first, I wanted to be invoked only to be able to eliminate it myself.

-God damn it, I do not understand a word of what you’re telling me!

Archer sighed long.

Clarke cocked his revolver in a threatening clatter.

\- So now my guy, you'll explain yourself clearly... and do not try to fool me!

\- Well, let's start from the beginning. I'm not going to lie, we can say that you found yourself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and in the worst of circumstances.

\- Expand, creaked the inspector.

\- The mark you carry on your hand was previously on that of the man you murdered -

\- In the performance of my duties, said the inspector. This man was a necromancer, and moreover dangerous.

\- I agree... but anyway, your gesture has made you the new bearer of the brand, and my Master. Inspector, I have the duty to announce you that you unconsciously set foot in a bloody ritual opposing mages who come from around the globe to take part of it. Seven representatives, of whom you are now part, have been chosen to fight each other in a war to win the right of granting one of your wishes.

\- I... what is this story?!

\- These seven contestants do not fight alone, however, they have a unique opportunity, as chosen beings, to invoke a Heroic Spirit... Something normally unrealizable for magus nowadays. This familiar who is called Servant has a duty to fight alongside his summoner, who is called Master, until death.

Clarke, the mind as troubled as preoccupied, looked at the "Servant" without really understanding. Seeing that the inspector lowered his weapon, the seated man took his cup and began to drink again.

\- Wait... said the inspector. What do you mean by “Heroic Spirit”?

\- The highest class of familiars, a heroic figure from times gone by... and sometimes even the future, he smiles, looking up mischievously. And yes, as crazy as it may seem, I am a Servant. Your Servant... of the Archer class more precisely.

The inspector closed his eyes for a moment.

\- And... said Clarke softly. And you really want me to swallow this BULLSHIT?

He stretched his weapon again, and shot the wall close to the disruptive man's head, which did not move a centimeter.

\- A “Heroic Spirit”? What next? A war between chosen? To grant a fucking wish?! BUT I MUST REALLY BE A SHITHEAD SO YOU MIGHT THINK I WOULD SWALLOW THIS!

Archer turned his head slightly towards the ball, which had almost touched him.

\- Good intimidation... Have someone ever told you that you’re doing well with a handgun?

\- I wonder if even the asylum would accept you, hissed the inspector.

\- However, I knew that it would be difficult to convince you. After all, evidences are always better than words, aren’t they, inspector?

With a smile on his lips, the stranger made a pretense of getting up.

\- I will disappear, so please do not panic.

\- ONE GESTURE AND I PLUMB YOU! Clarke shouted.

The man stood up and William Clarke shot.

A second ball impact was formed in the wall.

There was no one on the couch. Neither near, nor on the ground, nor anywhere in the room.

Completely confused Clarke, turned on himself to check every corner of the room, turning his head from side to side.

He did not control anything anymore, and this feeling of insecurity was horrible.

\- I'm going crazy, he whispered, damn it, I'm going crazy ... SHOW YOURSELF! He tried without really believing.

"Calm down, I'm still there ..."

Wide-eyed, Clarke put his free hand on his temple. A disembodied voice had echoed in his head.

\- And now I hear voices...

"Please, calm down, I am presently in spiritual form. That's why you can’t see me... And you're the only one who can hear me..."

\- ... Master, completed the man reappearing on the couch.

Clarke still bewildered could not answer.

\- Come on, Inspector! I repeat, by killing my old Master, you have taken his place in this war. And you do not really have the choice... Either you fight by my side, either you will die, because your competitors will not care if you’re enjoying this war or not, and will not hesitate to eliminate you. And who says war, says victims. In a place as populous as London, collateral damages will be inevitable, whatever their nature. As a law enforcement representative, I think you will certainly have something to say in this battle. Other perfidious mages, like this necromancer, will come from all over the world to fulfill their desires, whatever the prices! You have not chosen to find yourself in this situation... but now that you are there... do you really plan to let such a thing take place?

\- Damn, all Scotland Yard should be warned...

Facing the lost look of the inspector, the Servant continued:

\- Do you really think that simple agents could take care of that?

\- No... And such a delusional situation would not be taken seriously by any institution, competent or not...

\- Yes, I was able to realize it myself...

The spike seemed to wake Clarke who gazed at his Servant's gaze:

\- When would it happen?

\- War is imminent Master, said the man, almost at attention.

\- I'm not a mage though, would I only have the ability to fight?

\- All chosen Masters have a magical potential, but whatever your abilities, the most important will be to exploit them to their fullest.

\- Defining the best strategy with all the pieces that we have or will have in hand.

\- Exactly. And now that things are clear... are you ready to take up the challenge of this war, ready to make every effort to defend this city and its inhabitants... I ask you... Are you my Master?

\- I do not particularly like the turn of the events that you announce... but do I really have the choice?

\- Here we are, smiles the Servant, the contract is sealed. As long as you respect it, I will be on your side.

Suddenly, the inspector looked at his servant with a different eye. As if he had always known him, as if he finally realized that he was indeed his Master.

Clarke put away his weapon and went to his chair on the right of his servant. He collapsed on it. Slightly leaning on the armrest, he rested his head on his hand, exhausted and thoughtful, while his neighbor quietly savored his tea.

\- To say that I had renounced to the world of magic...

Clarke seemed to remember something. His head still resting on his hand, he turned it slightly to better see his Servant:

\- However...

Clarke cast a suspicious look at his servant:

\- Archer, that's it?

\- Yes, Master!

\- First, call me Inspector, the situation is already enough disturbing like that. Secondly... I still need one proof that all this is real and that I’m not doing a delirium tremens.

The two men looked at each other in a particularly awkward silence.

\- Maybe if someone other than you see me...

\- That's exactly what I thought! Clarke smiled, snapping his fingers, straightening himself at the same time. However it’s getting late, I am exhausted and unless I go to the neighborhoods... Wait a second. Something is missing from your story. What can mages rely on to think that they can grant a wish? Especially after such a ritual? What can be the source of all of this?

\- Well it’s the object for which all chosen mages fights... and which can grant the wishes of the winner...

\- But ... what object? What are we fighting for?

\- How "for what"? I did not tell you? For the Grail of course!

"WILL THIS FUSS END SOON, OR WHAT?!"

It was at this exact moment that someone knocked on the door, to complain about the noise caused by the Inspector's weapon...

x

* * *

 

x

\- Finally arrived!

A stretching girl with entirely white hair got off the train. She looked around at King Cross station with childish enthusiasm and wonder.

\- But the trip was unbearable! She paused for a second, just to give way again to a radiant smile.

She tried to pick up all the heavy luggage she had brought with her. Walking with difficulty, she let go of the whole thing and blew on her aching hands.

\- It's too heavy... she whimpered.

"So this is where the Grail War is taking place. Interesting... "

Hearing the deep sound of that familiar voice, she laughed, full of excitement.

\- I hope we are not too late! Oh! Look how beautiful this wagon is! Did you notice that they are different from those we borrowed at home? Too bad that the fumes smells so bad...

Completely forgetting her equipment behind, the girl went on her way trotting happily.

"Don’t you feel a little light?” The voice suggested.

\- Yes, very! The girl replied with a smile on her face, turning to herself, only to see her luggage left far away.

\- Oh crap, she said coming back.

Faced with her baggage she questioned the voice, annoyed.

\- You couldn’t make all that disappear with you?

"I'm sorry but that's impossible for me"

\- Well, too bad, she sighed. I managed to get everything so far, I'll do something until the hotel.

She tried to reorganize several times, until a controller came to help her stack it so that it could move more easily.

Completely disregarding the controller's presence, she continued to speak to her invisible interlocutor aloud:

\- Say! Say! Can you tell if the other Servants are still alive? It would be really too bad to miss that!

"I think we arrived on time. As a Saber, I can’t determine where all the Servants are. Nevertheless, I will answer instinctively that they have all been invoked and are still alive..."

\- Awesome! She exclaimed.

The controller thought for a moment that the young woman had spoken to him, before understanding that this was not really the case. She looked at her luggage and the surroundings without really paying attention. Worrying to see her speaking for herself, he made a gesture to call her. However, after observation, he realized that the young woman probably belonged to a noble family from Eastern Europe. And it was by briefly crossing his glowing eyes that he convinced himself that disturbing her was not a good idea at all. Better to not get involved in her business...

Seeing that the controller stared at her, the girl recovered

\- Oh, sorry sir! Thank you for giving me your help.

\- But nothing Miss... replied the controller overwhelmed by the high-spirited behavior of the young nobleman.

\- Have a nice day sir!

Making a big wave of goodbye to the man, she stepped on the quays whistling, this time with her luggage in hand.

"You really have your head in the clouds..." laughs the voice

\- Hey! Stop kidding! Sulked the girl.

The crowd of passengers moved away when they saw this strange, overcrowded young albino woman who seemed to be talking alone.

The stranger stopped to look at a large clock. She tilted her head to the side, put her index finger on her chin and looked up. Rather blatant demonstration of his intense reflection.

\- You know what, Saber...

"Yes?” Replied the disembodied voice.

\- I'm hungry! Let's go eat! She said playfully, raising a fist to the sky, letting fall in a crash a part of the load she had just let go.

"There will be something to eat at the hotel, you know," the voice answered, teasing.

\- Yes, but it's far away! And…

Slobbering lips she pointed to a restaurant on the sidewalk in front of the station.

\- I want to taste the English fooooooooood!

"The food will be English at the hotel too-"

\- But I want now!

After a silence, facing the pouting girl holding her arms crossed, like a child, Saber's mind burst into a thunderous laugh. Only audible for the girl.

"Well! I guess the war will wait for your young girl's stomach!"

Arriving to the restaurant, the waiters allowed the girl to put her belongings in a locker room provided for this purpose. Most of their clients are travelers.

\- One place I suppose Miss?

\- Are you hungry Saber?

"No, I don’t see the need to feed myself"

\- Well, then I'll eat for you. Two seats, but I eat alone sir! Said the young woman, highlighting two of her fingers.

The client being king, the waiter did his best to hide his astonishment and brought the curious young girl to a round table framed by a red back bench. She grabbed the card and frowned, not knowing what to choose.

The waiter finally came back and took out a notebook and a pencil from his apron

\- Did Mademoiselle decide?

\- I would like some typical English food!

\- We have fish dishes that might interest you...

\- But the fish is not necessarily English... Oh I know! I want some pudding!

\- Unfortunately, we do not serve pudding, Miss...

\- If you don’t have pudding then I'm leaving! She said with a look that wanted to be inflexible.

\- I can see if it’s possible to arrange this in the kitchen, but I can not assure you in the immediate future.

\- Thank you sir!

As the waiter moved away, Saber thought it wise to warn his Master:

"Information that has been passed on to me, English food is not particularly famous, you know..."

\- But if people eat it, it must be good, right? And then who does not try anything gets nothing.

"And prevention is better than the cure..."

\- Bad tongue, she countered, pulling hers to provoke the spirit. But Saber did not answer.

After a while the waiter ends up returning a dish under a bell in his hand.

\- We could make you a pudding with our reservations, hoping that you like it. Boiled with carrots, leeks, pudding, d-

\- Thank you! The girl cut her off, seizing her cutlery.

The waiter did not found it necessary to insist and went out to make new arrivals available.

The whole restaurant, however, blenched at hearing a rising voice.

\- BUT! IT'S NOT GOOD!

"I warned you."

"Eat for me," she whispered, pushing her plate away.

"To do what? You are hungry, not me..."

\- But it's not good!

"Alright, I understand... I'm taking care of it. Sighed the Servant.

Slumped on the bench, the young woman sulked. The nearest waiter who heard her exclamation came to inquire about the young woman's problems.

\- It's not good, she replied, but you're busy, Saber told me he’s taking care of everything...

She swept the air with a gesture dismissing the boy who did not understand at all what the young woman wanted. He returned to the kitchen door and was almost jostled by the previous waiter who returned hastily to the young woman, completely tensed, with two dishes in hand.

\- Here you are Miss, they are fish and chips, it is a t- traditional Eng- English dish- dish, stuttered the man by serving it as quickly as possible. Enjoy your meal!

As quickly as he had come, he went away, removing the pudding dish, and disappeared behind the service door. As if nothing had happened, the young woman took her cutlery again. Suspicious after her previous experience, she used it with meticulousness to finally taste her new dish. A smile blooms on his lips.

\- Thanks Saber!

"You're welcome"

No longer holding back, and despite her title of nobility, she stuffed herself with joy, and the meal was "graciously" offered.

Loaded with her luggage again, she smiled at the discouraged waiters and went out to pick up a coach, to settle in her hotel.

The driver helped her load her luggage and she settled comfortably inside the horse-drawn vehicle. During the distance, she listed on her fingers what she intended to do the rest of the day.

\- We'll have to get busy for the preparations, she sighed. But it's worth it, I'm sure we're going to have fun. By the way, you should take the opportunity to explore the city in spiritual form.

"That's what I planned to do, I hope this place is fun!"

The coach finally stopped, the driver got up from his seat and opened the door to his passenger as she had already gone out by the other side to scream at the sky, placing her hands like funnels around her mouth:

\- SEE YOU SOON, SABER!


	3. CHAPTER II - FIRST BRAWL

**CHAPTER II – FIRST** **BRAWL**

"Inspector Clarke! Inspector Clarke! "

The inspector sat up suddenly on his bed, still sleepy. The room barely lit by the pastel glow of winter's dawn. He put a hand over his face.

Realizing that someone was knocking on the door, he stood up awkwardly to unlock the front door. On the threshold of this one, a child, badly dressed, wearing a patched headgear, mittens and a ragged scarf. The inspector finally recognized the street kid.

\- It's you Thomson... Damn, what do you want so early in the morning, my boy?

He passed a hand in front of his eyes when the light attacked his retinas.

\- You must hurry inspector! We are waiting for you at the police station!

\- What do you mean? Wait ... what time is it?

\- Eight o'clock, Inspector. Since no one saw you at the station this morning, I was sent here to find you. We ask you urgently Sir! He finished, raising his voice, his head protruding from the door-frame.

The moment he heard the time, the inspector had rushed away to get ready in his apartments, leaving the door open.

The curious and indiscreet boy looked up and down the inside of the apartment. The front door gave direct access to the living room. It was a very simple room that also served as an office and had a direct view to the street. To his left, a first door opened to a kitchen, and next to it, a second door, from which resounded the insults pronounced by the inspector, was closed. The whole thing was an organized mess that invited people to look into, at least that's what Thomson thought. Without embarrassment, he tried to push the door, but it refused to open more than it already was. Curious, the boy leaned closer to observe what was on the other side of the door but a hand on his shoulder made him blench.

Clarke pushed the child back to the doorstep, took his hand and put two coins in it.

\- Thanks Thomson, and avoid getting into trouble this week.

He finally closed the front door. Andrew Thomson was not a bad boy. His environment only invited him to make bad friends, and if curiosity could be a quality ... it could be the source of the worst trouble to those who were not paying attention. Leaning on the wood of the door, the inspector sighed, looking at the wall in front of him. Fortunately he had taken the time to hide the bullet holes the day before, when his neighbors came. Which allowed him to check that Archer was real. The first remark of his landlord was about the strange fellow he was lodging without having informed him.

He sighed and returned to his toilet.

Everything was true.

And the day started as bad as the last one had finished.

"I'm sorry, Inspector, Servants consume mana constantly, it's a big deal for the uninitiated."

Finally dressed, looking better than before, the inspector grabbed his cloak and clinked his keys while looking for the entrance, he put his hand on the handle, getting ready to go out but stopped.

\- Don't worry Archer, I can endure it... But avoid asking questions in public, I don't want to look crazy if I ever answer carelessly.

"You do not have to answer me out loud, just think of your answer so that I can hear it"

\- Can you read my thoughts?

"Not quite... I have a certain feeling about your state of mind, but I can't really know your thoughts. And just as I can choose to discuss with you in spirit, so can you. "

"I see..." the inspector tried with a half-smile. His own voice had just echoed in his head.

Reassured, he finally went out and took the path to the police station.

The entrance of the post was as animated as usual. In the entrance, a queue of citizens complaining of various and varied misdeeds. On a bench apart, watched by two men agents, were suspects entering or leaving police custody. Nothing special today: two regulars were there. Ogden, the neighborhood's old alcoholic, had made the prison of the post his personal pension so he had spent nights there. Some wonder if his blood could not be consumed in a bottle... The old man was half asleep slouching on his neighbor, a young boy with a blackened face whom the inspector recognized immediately, although he had never met him. It was Garry Thomson, Andrew's older brother. The two brothers looked as two peas in a pod, and the eldest was known in the neighborhood for his legendary misfortune. This explained why the youngest is walking around the police station.

After a quick greeting to his reception colleagues and ignoring some mocking remarks about his late awakening, Clarke headed to the bottom of the police station. Large windows made it possible to see the interior of the offices, and the one to which the inspector was going was no exception. Inside, a small dry man was working actively, his nose almost stuck to his work support. The inspector knocked at the door, bouncing the sign indicating the owner of the office's name: "Commissioner E. Brown".

\- Come in, replied the middle-aged man, without really paying any attention to the inspector. He carelessly rubbed his neck and put down his pen, grumbling on the ink stains he had just made.

\- Good morning Commissioner, excuse me for being late.

Clarke's voice made the man react, who sharply raised his head, a smile on his lips.

\- Finally, inspector! Have a sit, we need to talk.

While Clarke was settling in front of his superior, the commissioner pulled a sheet from one of the stacks of documents facing him.

\- The case will unfortunately not enchant you, especially after what happened yesterday. I want you to investigate a murder, Clarke: we found the body of a woman in White Chapel. A prostitute whose identity has not yet been found. She was slaughtered and her stomach was badly stabbed several times ... If you want details, go see the examiner in the basement. But I warn you, it's a real butchery. I want you to start the investigation as soon as possible. You have carte blanche.

\- All right, Commissioner.

\- If you don't have any questions you can leave.

\- This is not directly related to this case, but how is the abduction investigation going? I was still in charge yesterday morning...

The commissioner stared at Clarke over his glasses.

\- The case was coupled with the investigation of the necromancer, the file has been completely reviewed and is no longer your responsibility.

\- Have my assumptions been taken into account?

\- Yes, once the case solved and buckled up, your report allowed its reopening attached to the kidnappings one. And you know very well why it's better that you do not interfere... In any case, the murder that took place this night is a priority.

\- Who will take the case?

\- Inspector O'Neill. If you have nothing to add, this interview is over. I'm waiting for your report tonight, Clarke.

\- Have a good day, Commissioner.

The inspector went out but was called one last time by his superior

\- Ah, and if you could take some shirkers with you, Inspector...

On a nod, the inspector made his way to the center of the police station, where a hoot could be heard.

Passing through the offices of the agents, the inspector stopped for a moment in front of the small group formed around the offices of Simpson and Walter.

\- And four! Bawled one of the men.

\- What a cheater, he can't have four, I already played it in the second fold.

\- Really? Well, show us your fold!

\- He Ho! Prohibition to look at the folds already done! Otherwise the game is skewed!

\- But I've already played it, he can't have it!

\- What a pity... I showed myself so generous by wanting to check your fold...

\- Are you making fun of me? You can't have forgotten that I already played this King?

\- But there are many cards.

\- Many numbers, many colors ... and many figures too.

\- Stop guys ... You're kidding me. Are you all in cahoots?

\- Us?

\- Nooo!

\- Never!

\- What accusations!

\- May I?

A spectator came to take the famous fold, to look at the card.

\- In fact, you've been fooled, Agent Simpson.

\- Ah! I knew it! exclaimed the man, satisfied, while his colleagues had become dumb like carp by staring the famous spectator.

The officer, in a burst of clairvoyance, turned around, while Inspector Clarke gazed at the players one by one. He casually dropped the card on the desk.

\- You put it away immediately and come all five with me. We have an extra murder case today. I will not accept any complaints unless you want me to escalate your behavior to Commissioner Brown.

\- Yes, Inspector! answered the five agents in a single voice.

Clarke then took the way out and waited for his men in front of the service car.

He thought for a moment of smoking a cigarette, and abstained himself seeing the agents arrive. They climbed into the horse-drawn carriage and the inspector realized that being six in the car was not going to be easy.

Clenched on the two benches, the five agents, at first silent, as if to excuse themselves for their little differences, did not hold two minutes without starting a discussion. The inspector stuck to one of the windows sighed long, already tired of what was going to be his day. However, if Clarke did not like to show it, the company of the agents often allowed him to evacuate the stress of his work. They always had an anecdote to tell, whether about their families, their neighbors, their friends, their outings at the bar or the state of their discoveries... Yes, his colleagues could be as painful as they were distracting.

The inspector laughed under cover when he heard Agent Simpson complaining of the regular disappearance the money he left lying in his pockets.

Simpson was a loyal and fair man, but too naive and easy to fool. Fortunately for him, his entourage had always been benevolent. But his daughter did not seem to be made of the same wood as him. She came with her father to the police station last week, as tall as three apples, ten years old at most, and especially cunning like a fox. She had diverted her father's attention to steal his currency under his nose. And in front of the angelic smile of his daughter, Agent Simpson seemed to lose some neurons...

Walter, moreover, laughed openly at him, and finely proposed her to put mouse-fats in the pockets of his jacket. Simpson grumbled at the teasing while the agents were amused by his always exaggerated reactions. Seeing the man grow cold, Agent Walter promised him a drink at the end of the day.

Simpson and Walter were a rather unlikely duo. If Simpson was a rather modest medium, Agent Walter was a former street kid, although he did not like to talk about it. Nobody really knows how he managed to get to this position. His present situation seemed so improbable, compared to his social origins, that his journey was almost a myth. Most of the stories on his subject were invented, all kinds of rumors circulated, always expanding a little more over time. Now Clarke had started his service only a year after Walter's arrival. In other words, in eleven years, the rumors had time to develop.

Still, Walter, not much older than the inspector, was the exact opposite of Simpson. Rather clever, curious by nature, his past in poor neighborhoods gave him some experience on the ground. His lack of education was sometimes felt in the most advanced cases.

Clarke realized quickly that the two men could be complementary. He trusted them and learned to work with them.

Besides their idiotic airs he had come to know them.

Walter tended to make his entourage laugh to hide his personal problems, he was still living with his benefactors in a house of perdition south of East End. He liked the female company, but fled the engagement like the plague.

Simpson, though should have been a bank clerk. Too clumsy, and absentminded for the job. Being married and almost father, he turned to a career in the police, with no other ambition than to pay a regular salary to his family. And curiously they had very quickly got along, the one discovering the other's universe and vice versa. Walter enjoyed bringing his colleague to various bars, to the grief of Mrs. Simpson, and enjoyed spending time with their daughter. He had to have influenced her a lot over the years. Simpson quickly became a guarantee of stability in Walter's life, being his senior of almost fifteen years, he had become an important pillar in the junior's life.

Clarke had seen scroll most of the other agents from one post to another. Some of them seeking to be transferred close to their families, others looking for a promotion or a better job. It was ironic to think that Walter and Simpson could be considered as a safe and irreplaceable value of the job.

The Inspector's fine thoughts disappeared as quickly as the volume of the horse-drawn compartment increased. Exasperated, he put his hands on his ears until they arrived at White Chapel. He did not feel like taking back his men during their last quiet moment of the day, he would explain to them on arrival the ins and outs of the affair.

In front of the entrance to a quaint alley, filled with garbage in every corner, an officer watching the area was waiting for them. One entered through a stone arch that threatened to crack, narrow at the beginning, it widened as they turned, to lead to a long courtyard, crossroads of multiple alleys. The place was ideal for any illegal activity. And above the market pretty close to the Thames. The murderer could have gotten rid of the body easily... But he had not done it.

He quickly thanked the officer who had taken them to the crime scene and began a quick overview of the macabre events that took place during the night.

\- Gentlemen, as the marks on the ground indicate, a crime took place here. A young woman was savagely killed in this courtyard. All I can tell you is that she was a prostitute whose identity is unknown and that she has been slaughtered and stabbed several times. The marks left on her body are so messy that it's impossible to precisely define the murder weapon. The body was found by the owner of the hostel behind me this morning at 5am. Agent Walter, I would like you to take his testimony, as well as those of the people who frequented the inn that night. Mr. Davies and Mr. Jones, please ask anyone who may have heard or seen anything in the alleys around, I want the list of houses and shops running during the night. Agent Tramblay, go around the neighborhood of the courtyard. It is important to quickly find the identity of the victim. And here is the case file. I let you read the description of the victim, to facilitate identification. Simpson, with me.

\- Yes sir!

The four men left, while the inspector moved to the scene of the crime accompanied by the last agent.

A long, reddish trail lay on the ground, and the body mark was detached from the different shades of carmine. They began to look for clues on the scene.

When the end of the morning arrived, the police officers returned as agreed in the court to put in common the different elements of the investigation. It was an inspector walking in circle like a lion in cage that they found at the scene of the crime while Simpson showed a doubtfully mine.

\- It's incomprehensible, the inspector mumbled, a murder of such violence would have to leave us with some information about what happened!

\- I don't understand sir, suggested Tramblay, Agent Simpson seemed to have recovered a number of clues that you would have entrusted to him...

\- Certainly, but everything relates only to this young woman. The yard is dirty and muddy with rain. The only fingerprints present are those of the victim. She was killed in the middle of the night, just after the rain stopped. And the only other imprints are those of the innkeeper who did not dare to approach the body when he discovered it. Aside from the remaining rags of the young woman, there is nothing. Absolutely nothing, not the slightest hint. As if she had slit herself. But it is impossible, the individual hounded her according to the report! Even the blood on the ground leaves no trace of a second individual. And on top of that, Walter, Davies and Jones came back empty-handed.

The agents stared at each other, skeptical. The inspector was not one to lose his temper. The events of the day before had had to mark him. The information circulated among the police officers during the morning. Nobody was surprised by his absence, but everyone was worried. And when the commissioner had asked for his presence as a matter of urgency, Walter had taken the initiative to send Garry Thomson's younger brother to pick up the inspector.

Killing a man, no matter why, could have unexpected repercussions on the individual.

In this case, the inspector showed a rare agitation, for a man accustomed to crisis situations. And the present situation had no reason for those who knew the man to make him nervous.

\- Then I may be able to unblock the affair, sir, said Tramblay. In the neighborhood, nobody heard anything... However, Miss Taylor, who lives on the third floor in front of the hostel, told me that she recognized the description of the victim. I did not tell her that the young lady was dead, Miss Taylor is a middle-aged woman who-

\- Abbreviate Trambley, interrupted the inspector more abruptly than he would have liked.

\- Sorry sir. So it could be Miss Byrne, a young woman living in the same building, house worker of Miss Taylor and not showing up this morning. Apparently, the young woman rarely came out of her house, but regularly received men in the evening.

\- Well, follow this track gentlemen, I would like to inspect the scene for some time, Walter, Simpson bring the host of the hostel to me.

Letting the agents discuss on how to proceed, the inspector returned to the crimson trace and stared at it with annoyance. The situation was oppressing him. That there was no significant clue was one thing, that the crime scene seemed completely sanitized from the presence of any murderer left him with a bad presentiment. Especially as the place stank, between the smell of the chimney of the factory located on one of the flanks of the yard, and the remains of the crime scene, the mixed set made him want to throw up.

"INSPECTOR, A SERVANT!"

The scream in his skull made the inspector leap with surprise.

"What? Now?"

Archer materialized and slammed the inspector against the nearest wall. In the middle of the yard, Davies, Jones, Trambley, were still grouped together.

And as in a dream, a figure landed graciously on the ground, without a single noise, while three heads rolled at their feet.

Slackly the decapitated bodies, astonished at their own condition, collapsed into a morbid whole.

A young woman, dressed lightly, had a completely anachronistic weapon. A sublime spear ending in a blade comparable to that of a sword. Clarke had never seen such a thing. The blood dripping from it caused the inspector to react and try to get out of Archer's grip:

\- SIMPSON! WALTER!

Simpson turned to look at the inspector while, at his side, the blade of the unknown woman cut in two the body of Walter. Simpson's head flew in the same motion.

Clarke hallucinated for a moment.

The next moment he pointed his gun at the young woman, his eyes bulging with rage. He shot two bullets without hesitation.

The stranger did not care, and rushed towards the inspector, easily avoiding projectiles. Archer abruptly pulled his Master away to find himself alone against his opponent. Two guns appeared in his hands and fired repeatedly, causing a temporary withdrawal of the young woman.

\- Be careful Inspector! Given her build and her weapon, she must be Lancer!

Clarke, on the floor after being projected by his servant, was finally able to detail the young woman for a short time. She was a beautiful lady with fine features and an elegant look. Her face was framed by a splendid black jet haircut, which, though held in her back by a simple string, twirled with grace.

Lancer avoided the bullets without any problem and ran towards Archer, making quick and precise blows that the latter avoided with trouble.

The warrior was merciless, leaving no opening for her enemy, crushing him to a corner of the yard.

Unexpectedly, she raised her halberd over her head. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Archer made a jump six meters high. He invoked a strange rifle with a stick that he grabbed by a bar descending under the barrel, in front of the trigger. The weapon shot like a Gatling.

Lancer avoided the assault by jumping even higher, and dropped her blade on Archer's weapon before launching a violent aerial kick, sending Archer to the ground, who rolled to the side to avoid the thunderous fallout of the warrior.

Faced with this unreal spectacle, William Clarke was completely subjugated. Two superhuman characters were waging a battle of unheard-of violence with weapons that were almost unknown to him, causing a deafening din. It was a deadly ballet, as frightening as it was fascinating, where winking at the wrong time could mean death.

Clarke wondered frankly what he was doing there.

One should be devoid of survival instinct to not see that someone like him would die in an instant if he intervened.

Falling back to the ground, Lancer had changed the orientation of her blade to strike her opponent. Archer, after his roll, deflected the attack by hitting the shaft of the weapon with a kick. For the first time since the start of the clash, Lancer was at a disadvantage. Seeing that his blow had made the young woman lose her balance, Archer pulled a hunting knife from his belt and tried to slice Lancer's arm.

Against all odds the warrior dropped her weapon to dodge the blade that struck in the air. Before her halberd reached the ground, she seized her weapon back by hooking it with her ankle. With a wide movement of her leg, she twirled it in the air and finally grabbed it with an alert hand.

Clarke's eyes widened. How wide were the abilities of these beings?

Archer summoned again a long, complex, dark-colored firearm, and as Lancer entered his scope, a man's face appeared.

Between the fighters a man dressed in black, wearing a Roman collar had just arrived. It was obviously a priest.

Waving his hands on each side as a sign of peace, the man of solid constitution, displayed a serene and benevolent face.

Archer and Lancer stopped in their fight and stared at the stranger.

\- Excuse me for the disruption. It turns out that you are fighting not only during the day, but also in a public place. And from what I see, innocents have already been involved...

Lancer threw her weapon under the newcomer's throat.

\- Who are you?

The newly arrived priest did not react to the threat of the warrior.

\- Excuse me, it is true that I did not introduce myself. My name is Lowell Connor, Bishop of the Holy Catholic Church. And if my presence surprises you, know that it is far from derisory. I am and will be the supervisor of this war. The Holy Grail War, as murderous as it may be, has no vocation to massacre, like the one that just happened. As agreed, this war will be regulated. The Church refuses the involvement of innocents in this ritual, and in its name, I vouch for it. This also includes all participants who lost their Servant.

The man lost his smile and glared at Lancer and Archer

\- Whoever your Masters are, in the name of this principle, I ask you to lower your weapons. I will not tolerate such overflows anymore.

Connor casted a pained look at the man who was getting up with difficulty, completely dazed, who was none other than Inspector Clarke.

\- I'm sorry for what happened to your colleagues, I'm busy making them disappear, and you can withdraw.

Clarke did not answer.

Archer on his side had lowered his weapon. Lancer, though, didn't move, casting a hard but uncertain glance at his interlocutor.

\- You too Lancer, go away. Being seen by innocent people is against the rules. Killing them is not an alternative.

Lancer eventually obeyed.

The building where the inn was located exploded.

They all turned abruptly towards the origin of the detonation.

A gigantic wave of dust and smoke swept through the yard, preventing the four remaining individuals from seeing the building's state.

A massive figure rushed out of the smoke at the speed of a locomotive, landing in the middle of the nearest debris. The man was shirtless and carried a huge wooden cross, extending well over two meters on his shoulder. Although not huge, the man was terribly impressive.

\- My God! He is far too strong! Even both of you will not be able to deal with him! exclaimed Clarke.

"Strategic Retreat, Inspector!"

Archer rushed to his Master and pulled him to the nearest alley to escape.

The bestial being ignored them completely, setting his sights on the man of the Church whom he charged with no other form of trial. Berserker struck a powerful blow his cross at the priest who tried to block it with his bare hands. With each blow, his arms were violently repulsed, but Father Connor remained calm.

Seeing the situation degenerate, Lancer launched in pursuit of the fugitives and quickly caught up with them in the adjacent lane, Archer was forced to follow the rhythm of his Master.

Lancer prepared her halberd while leaping on the two men, when a gigantic cross appeared in the middle of her trajectory.

The shock of the cross on the ground raised a new wave of dust and debris, blinding Lancer. Archer just had time to protect his Master and took advantage of the diversion to pull the inspector with him. He coughed and was covered with dust and dirt. An insect had clung to his collar not wanting to be carried away by the breath caused by the impact.

On her guard, Lancer prepared an assault on her opponent. But when the cloud of dust dissipated, only the cross rested on the ground. Archer and his Master had escaped. She turned quickly and found that Berserker was still fighting the priest with his bare hands.

The latter attempted a breakthrough in the guard of his assailant. Berserker, in reaction, made a dangerous rear jump, which he accompanied by a double kick, towards his adversary.

The priest reacted instinctively and punched him with his two arms. Two grim cracks were heard, and Connor's arms hung limply along his body.

He instinctively moved one leg back, giving him the attitude of what should have been a defensive stance.

Berserker threw himself at the now invalid priest.

But his run was deflected by an improbable movement of his body that turned to the side and screamed in pain.

Lancer's eyes widened. Berserker's shoulder had dislocated by force.

A crossbow bolt pulled her from her contemplation. With a twist of her wrist, the blade of her spear whirled and broke the bolt that fell apart around her.

She could not spot the shooter's presence, and judging that she had nothing to do here anymore, she dematerialized.

Taking advantage of Berserker's condition, the bishop gained momentum and used the rubble to climb on the roof of a building and disappeared as fast as he came.


	4. CHAPTER III - THE DARK COAT OF THE NIGHT

**CHAPTER III - THE DARK COAT OF THE NIGHT**

In the middle of a large restaurant-like hall, Rider was drinking briskly, surrounded by young women dressed in gorgeous dresses with advantageous necklines, waving their fans and beating their long eyelashes to catch the eye of their beloved client. After discovering the city of London, the man decided to embark on a tour of the city's brothels, to the grief of his Master.

Ms. Bloom's house was known to be one of the most luxurious in the East End neighborhood, or at least as much as it was possible. The places were certainly not frequented by clients with a high status, but was nevertheless the benchmark of the wealthiest traders.

Rider, a woman under one arm, his drink in the other, was once again the center of the attention. He did not take offense and even enjoyed it.

As he was going to bring his drink to his mouth, he stopped and stared at the front door of the big living room, a defiant smile painting on his lips.

\- Misses, I think we're going to have company.

The next moment, the door opened on a young man with an assured and phlegmatic gait.

Ms. Bloom, who was watching the girls of her establishment, seeing the newcomer's outfit, wondered for a moment if there was not a special event in London for two men with completely anachronistic clothes to end up in her living room... Maybe they were playing in a theater…

The young man with blond hair had the build of a fighter. He wore a hoplite outfit, though not wearing a helmet, and was armed with a sword in his scabbard that swayed on his side. Nevertheless, what attracted the eye the most was his cloak, which shone with a golden light.

In the distance, Rider saw Ms. Bloom greet the newcomer, and very quickly he was surrounded by young, laughing women who offered him their favors.

A teasing smile on his lips, he answered something that Rider could not hear, but that made laugh the assembly surrounding the young man.

He deliberately put his eyes on Rider and went to his table with his new courtship.

He settled down comfortably, allowing himself to be served, and glanced at the Mongol.

\- I see I'm not the only one enjoying life again… he suggested.

Rider burst out laughing at the audacity of his interlocutor.

\- You don't miss guts for a youngster! But do you only know who you are talking to? he challenged with appreciative eyes.

The young man, without losing his smile, merely raised a questioning eyebrow. Carelessly passing an arm around the shoulder of one of his companions he drank several swigs of the drink that had been served to him.

\- A sovereign knows how to recognize another... And I don't think I am wrong in saying that you are a King, he said, pointing the Mongol King from his glass.

\- And a great one! exclaimed the Universal Sovereign. And to look at you more closely, something tells me that you are not part of my children...

\- Ah? And what makes you say that? the young mocking man added, attracting another young woman by the waist, who replied by hugging him.

\- This fleece shines with a glow that we can hardly miss... I imagine you must feel invincible to exhibit it like that.

Rider smiled, the man facing him was worthy of interest.

The young man seemed to enjoy the remark and decided to lash his counterpart a bit. He inhaled and took a tone that was falsely bored and contemptuous:

\- I did not come here to hide myself like a rat. Unlike you I do not just spend my time enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, he said, pretending to bite the girl on his right, who pushed him back laughing.

He stared at the Mongol King with a hard look.

\- For while you waste your time in superfluous jokes, I'll be victorious in this war, he added, displaying a smug.

At his words, Rider lost all smiles. Tense and furious, he violently slammed his glass on the table, splashing the table and causing a heavy silence.

\- A King worthy of his name leaves nothing to chance. Do you really think I'm wasting my time playing, kid? Someone dared to challenge me by attacking one of my women. My hunt is going on until I'll smash the culprit under the hoods of hundred horses and it's not a baby like you that will judge my actions!

The young man in front of him displayed a closed and ominous face. However, he did not pretend to move a centimeter, as if frozen. Faced with his silence, Rider sighed and went on, pointing out the young women around them.

\- I guess that's not just why you came, righ-?

\- How dare you call me a baby, old man? He cut. I will be able to slice your tongue without even having recourse to my Noble Phantasm.

In a serene movement, the man put his hand on the guard of his sword. Gesture that Rider noted. Undaunted, Rider nonchalantly put his chin on the palm of one of his hands. He chuckled, thrilling the assembly of young prostitutes who did not really know how to react to this delicate situation.

Seeing the evolution of the situation, Ms. Bloom had retreated to a corner of the counter under which was a telephone handset.

\- So your sword is not your Noble Phantasm? Surprising coming from a Saber. Still, you bark more than you bite... Nothing surprising from an arrogant pug like you.

At these words, Saber moved the young women around him and stood up with the stature that characterized the ruler he was. With a determined step he began to go around the big table, sweeping the air with his resplendent cloak. He began unsheathing his weapon in a dry jingle.

\- You went too far! Your impudence will cause your loss! Saber grunted, glaring at his opponent.

Halfway through the round table, Saber suddenly accelerated the pace and rushed over his opponent over the table, against all odds.

His sword split in two chairs and table, also marking the floor of a long cut. The surprised cries of the young women arose in reaction to the man's flash attack, which contrasted with the phlegmatic attitude he had previously adopted.

The individual, in the center of attention, was on the lookout like a hunter in search of his prey.

Saber scanned the room and swore.

Rider was gone.

x

* * *

x

The clock rang 9 pm before going back to the regular and mechanical sound of its second-hand, the only sound breaking the silence of the small living room. The kitchen door then opened on Archer, holding a burning teapot in his hand as well as two cups of tea.

\- I think you need a drink, Inspector...

\- The Whiskey is at the bottom of the cupboard under the sink, right of the pipes, the man answered mechanically.

Archer sighed. William Clarke was lying, not to say slumped, on his couch, looking at the ceiling. He had not changed his clothes since they returned. Still wearing his coat covered with dust, a bag slung across his chest. His arm was hanging off the couch, his hand resting on the ground, while his other rested on his forehead.

After the attack, Archer had forced the inspector to take weird ways, saying it was better to prevent his home from being spotted too quickly.

To say that his Master was exhausted was a euphemism. As much physically as psychologically, William Clarke had just experienced his first battle for the Grail so brutally.

Without taking account of his Master's remark, Archer served two cups of tea and took a chair, to sit in front of the inspector.

He took the time to put a sugar in his tea, put his spoon into the cup, and put the latter on the table separating him from the sofa where the inspector was. He sniffed the scent of his hot drink and finally took a sip. He looked again at his Master who had not moved at all.

\- Lancer is not a class to be underestimated, Archer started.

Facing the silence of his interlocutor, Archer took a sip of his tea and continued:

\- Without the intervention of this supervisor, I can't tell how all that could have ended...

\- Fuck…

The Servant put his eyes on the inspector who had finally deigned turn his head towards his interlocutor.

\- Archer... Who was that monster who came out of nowhere?

\- I can't say what his true identity is. However, the way he acted was instructive.

The inspector raised a questioning eyebrow. From his eyes, everything happened much too fast, and far too chaotic.

\- Which means?

\- My hypothesis is that Berserker would be related to the Church in some way. The huge cross he carried is the most flagrant proof of it, it recalls the crucifixion of the Christ. I do not know what the Servant's orders were, but his target was undeniably the priest. A Berserker, despite the orders of his Master, is primarily guided by his instincts and emotions. And there, his anger was clearly and deliberately projected on this man. A Berserker who focuses so much on one person while other potential enemies are also present, namely Lancer and myself... it deserves to be noted.

Clarke sat up, frowning.

\- Do you think his Master was there?

\- It's very likely. As I told you, Berserker class Servants tend to do as they please, so their Master had every interest in keeping an eye on his actions. In general, a Master rarely lets his Servant come and go without supervision.

Archer pointed the table from the chin.

\- You should drink your tea before it gets cold, he said with a smile.

The inspector was only watching the vapor emanating from the drink.

He was trying to rearrange his mind, but his questions were like a swarm of insects fluttering in his brain. He was thinking very quickly, but was losing his own thoughts.

\- This priest, Lowell Connor, said to be the supervisor of this... war. I really don't know what to think about it. People are killing each other and a priest comes out of nowhere, declaring himself the arbiter of this killing. Does the Church endorse this ritual? The Church knows? Damn it, of course they know, because it is a HOLY war!

The cup of tea on the table nearly flipped over as the inspector burst in rage at the table.

\- Do not kill innocents isn't it... SHIT! And Walter? Simpson? Tremblay? Davies? And Jones? What did they died for?

Archer approached to the window and looked absently through.

\- I agree with your opinion inspector, from what I know, no war has ever been supervised. Nevertheless, such an approach on the part of the Church is not so surprising. As I told you, the Holy Grail war leads to the confrontation of such powers that every battle may cause heavy damage, both material and human. It is neither in the interest nor in the mentality promulgated by the Church that a sacred ritual is so noticeable.

The inspector grunted at the mention of the "church mentality," then widened his eyes and stood up abruptly.

\- He said he'll take care of my colleagues ... He's going to get rid of the spoils? How does this solve the problem? My men are dead! Dead!

He walked to the messy shelves and began to dig in, sometimes dropping a book or a folder.

\- I can't stay without doing anything, if this guy is a bishop, he must be known enough that I can find information somewhere about him.

\- What bothers me the most is that the Church has most certainly chosen hi-

The inspector, flipping through a pile of newspapers, turned distractedly towards his servant.

He was staring at the window, motionless.

\- Well, what? Finish your sentence.

\- Someone is observing us, Inspector.

The inspector froze automatically. Very calmly, Archer shifted to the right of the window, put his cup on the desk of his Master next to him and leaned against the wall to dematerialize.

"Keep talking to me aloud, looking at where I was. As soon as you can, pull the curtains and put yourself away from the window. "

At first confused, Clarke complied. He packed his newspapers to regain his composure and placed the whole on a chair. Following Archer's directions, he approached the window while looking at the place where his Servant had previously been.

\- A bishop who leaves his diocese is the kind of thing that must appear in a newspaper...

He pulled the curtains with both hands and leaned on the wall to the left of the window.

On the roof of the building, Archer rematerialized on his stomach. In the almost complete darkness, his figure barely stood out. He leaned on his elbows and made appear what he would describe to the inspector, as a rifle with feet and a very long telescope.

Sniper in hand, Archer let out a last breath, then froze.

Motionless diaphragm, target in sight, shoulders wedged and finger on the trigger, Archer murmured to himself:

\- Pour la gloire et pour l'honneur, nous servirons nos canons…

He pushed the trigger.

Still next to the window, a hand on his gun, the inspector expected at any moment to hear the first bursts of the fight.

In the silence of the night, only a distant detonation was heard.

"I missed him, he's clever," the voice of his servant echoed in his head.

"Wait, did you shoot? But where are you?!"

"No worries to have Inspector, I'm on the roof. The target is currently 500 meters away."

Archer was looking in his telescope for the unwanted individual who had hidden himself.

"I beg your pardon?! How can you aim at such distance? And in the middle of the night!"

"My class allows me to act at a very long distance... Target in sight."

The figure of a relatively tall man, clad from top to bottom, appeared in his telescope, approaching a little too quickly to his liking, passing from one street corner to another.

The previous shot had therefore alarmed him enough that he decided to take action.

\- Nous servirons nos canons, pour tirer à l'unisson… Archer continued in a breath.

He chained three consecutive shots.

The enemy had again been just in time under cover.

Archer frowned, taken by a doubt. Still in position, he remained on the watch.

After three interminable seconds, a crossbow bolt grazed Archer's helmet which dematerialized immediately to reappear alongside his Master.

\- He spotted me, we must flee! NOW!

Hardly had he enough time to say these words that the door opened violently.

Archer recognized the tall black figure of the man he had tried to aim at. Entirely dressed in dark clothes, the individual wore a raven mask under his hat, the same as had the doctors of the plague before.

With a heavy and assured step, the man entered the apartment.

Clarke took out his gun and pointed it at the unwanted visitor.

\- DECLINE YOUR IDENTITY!

The Raven slowly turned his head towards the police inspector.

In front of him, Clarke in an attitude that was supposed to be defensive, had his hands shaking while tightening the grip on his weapon. Shining eyes, helpless gaze, everything in this man inspired the Raven vulnerability.

"I'm going to try a diversion, run away at that moment." Archer told his Master on the brink of nerve crisis.

Archer quietly summoned a grenade that he was about to unpin, when a voice from beyond the graves rose from behind the Raven's mask.

-  **YOU ARE NO MAGE.**

Clarke would have widened his eyes even more if it had been possible. The voice of this individual, dehumanized by his appearance, sounded in his ears like an echo of the underworld.

Taken in a torrent of rage and fear, the inspector exclaimed:

\- NO I AM NOT A MAGE! And I wish they all get fucked, he gritted. I WISH THAT THIS WAR BRING YOU ALL IN HELL, POOR SOULS WHO HAVE CHOSEN TO TAKE PART! THIS COMBAT IS AN ABSURDITY! A NO SENSE CAUTIONED BY THE CHURCH! A MADNESS THAT WILL LEAD ONLY TO DEATH. AND EVEN DEATH IS MORE ATTRACTIVE THAN THAT FUCKING RITUAL. I'd rather die than to continue participating in this MONSTROUS SIMULACRUM!

Out of breath, the inspector panted at a sporadic pace.

- **I SEE…**

The stranger in the mask turned around, and went out, slamming his heavy boxes on the floor.

The inspector stared towards the still opened door of his apartment, barely realizing what was happening.

The footsteps of the man down the stairs and finally the dull sound of the front door of the building had the effect of finally reactivating Clarke.

The inspector crumpled to his knees, his hands still tight on his weapon.

His body shook with sobs, he slowly put his forehead on his clenched hands.

Thus folded on himself, he burst into tears.

\- Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...

Archer knelt down next to his Master, who continued cursing in a choppy whisper.

He put a hand on his shoulder and the other on the barrel of his weapon.

\- Calm yourself inspector, calm down I'm here... he whispered gently.

He managed to loosen the hands of the inspector and, the latter still prostrate on the ground, first looked at his hands, then the front door still opened.

Still trembling, he cast a lost look at his Servant:

\- What did just happen?

x

* * *

x

\- Are you kidding me Rider?!

In his apartments, at the Edelfelt Manor, Hideaki Tohsaka was roaming angrily in his office. Rider was standing in its center, arms crossed, impervious to the wrath of his Master.

\- Damn you were THREATENING Saber?! But you do not care about losing this war? What did you think you were doing by acting like that, fool of Servant! You think you can defeat Saber in a duel?

Still boiling, Tohsaka finally stopped in front of his servant and pointed at him, wanting to be menacing.

\- In your opinion, why are the Sabers part of the three great classes of Knights? he continued, tensed. To make it pretty? How can you be so unconscious Rider?!

He took his head in his hands and rubbed his hair furiously.

\- I'm crazy... I knew I should have summoned Saber, this Servant must be so much more powerful than YOU!

The young man raised his head, casting an almost mad look at his servant:

\- YES I HAD TO SUMMON SABER! SO -

Tohsaka fell to the floor as violently as the slap had cut the air. Stunned, he mechanically raised his hand to his sore jaw, wide eyes, and looked up at his Servant who was overhanging him.

Although of medium height, Genghis Khan had an impressive build. And the look the Mongol chilled his blood.

\- Insolent, Rider hissed. Do you realize that you just wasted a precious Command Seal to call me back? And you dare to call me when I was gathering valuable information about the enemy?! Pitiful.

Rider dematerialized.

Tohsaka, still on the ground, hand on his face, had wet eyes. Slowly, he lay down on the ground to calm himself and was able to hold back his tears.

He cleared his mind and calmed his breathing, interrupted by jerky sniffles.

He opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling.

He reassured himself that at least he had not endured this humiliation in front of Mary.

Besides, he had not seen her all day, which suited him well: he did not need another person to come and put a spoke in his wheels.

x

* * *

x

Not far from Ms. Bloom's house, in a luxurious suite, Saber materialized.

He judged the places with appreciative eyes.

The Einzberns didn't choose this hotel for nothing, because the frontage of the establishment looked cheap and nothing suggested that such a splendor could spread in these places.

Saber was currently in what appeared to be the living room of the suite.

The disproportionately high ceiling gave place to a huge crystal chandelier. The walls were covered by wooden panels painted with pastel-colored floral motifs. Each panel was carefully decorated with gilding and arabesque reliefs.

The few wooden furniture in the room were marquetry works of art. The floor, cut into numerous slats gave a warm atmosphere to the room. In the center of the room, a large coffee table stood in front of a long sofa occupied by a white mass.

Saber, quietly approached the couch and sat on the armrest.

Observing the white mass agitated, he gave a discreet laugh and ran a hand through the long white hair that tangled in all directions.

A head then emerged from the white hair like a devil coming out of his box, which made the Servant laugh loudly.

\- Huh? What? said the girl who leaned on her hands to get up. Oh Saber, it's you...

The girl first looked at her Servant with half-closed red eyes, then she brought her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She yawned long and carelessly rubbed her eyes, still heavy.

\- Forgive me, Maelysviel, laughed Saber, I didn't think I would wake you up so abruptly. You'd better sleep in your bed, you know?

The girl did not answer immediately, sleepy, she shook her head suddenly to wake up and gave her servant a resplendent smile.

\- That's why I was waiting for you, Saber!

The man sighed.

\- You could wait for me in your room.

At these words, Maelysviel cast a satisfied glance at his Servant and pointed at him:

\- That is true! But if I went to bed, you would not have come to wake me up! Did you see how smart I am? She smiled at her frankly. Come on, tell me! Did you have fun?

The girl leaned her head on Saber's leg and curled up to settle in and listen to her servant's story.

Saber laughs softly, staring into the greedy eyes of the girl ready to listen.

\- Yeah, it was not bad. I have at least been able to meet someone of interest.

\- A Servant?! anticipated the girl with shining eyes.

\- Yeah, but he didn't seem very strong. I will beat him easily. Oh and also, I think that girls in this country are far too shy... And their institutions are lacking men. But tell me how preparations have advanced, he smiles.

Still using Saber as a pillow, Maelysviel moved to extend her legs and settle down. She began her explanations by illustrating her remarks with great gestures.

\- So I finished installing the wards. There is enough to repel wizards! But... she pouted, it's true that they are not perfect. But I did my best in a day, haha, she laughed.

\- Not bad! Replied the Servant, ruffling the hair of his Master, who laughed loudly.

-Wait! I'm not done yet! I also finished summoning my familiars! From now on no more events in the city will escape my sight!

A carnivorous smile came to stretch Saber's lips.

\- I think we can clearly say that hostilities are open!

Revived by the discussion, Maelysviel stood up abruptly and jumped with excitement.

-As you say! Finally ready to fight! And I really hope that nobody has given up yet!

x

* * *

x

In a dark alley of East End neighborhoods, a bloody shadow disappeared.


End file.
